OEMS 


\ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


/6 


POEMS 


MINOT    J.    SAVAGE 


BOSTON 

GEO.  H.  ELLIS,  141  FRANKLIN  STR.MT 
1882 


COPYRIGHT, 

1882, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  ELLIS 


-R5 


Brtrtcateb 


To  one  wliose  loving  eye  divines 

Rare  meanings  writ  between  the  lines, 

And  on  whose  ear  oft  falls  a  tone 

Caught  by  the  listening  heart  alone. 

But  shall  I  to  the  world  disclose 

The  name  ?     Enough  to  say, —  she  knoius. 


T    CLAIM  no  place  among  the  great : 

•*•     Shakspere  and  Goethe  rise 

Like  mountains  keeping  their  high  state, 

At  home  in  far-off  skies. 
Meantime,  the  valleys  at  their  feet 

The  brooklets  murmur  through, 
With  restful  voices  low  and  sweet : 

So  would  I  speak  to  you. 

The  lark  soars  in  the  morning  sky, 

While  wondering  listeners  wait 
To  hear  his  lessening  music  die 

Throbbing  at  heaven's  gate. 
Meanwhile,  the  robin  at  your  door 

Pours  out  his  gladness  too : 
He  gives  his  best ;  who  giveth  more  ? 

And  thus  I  give  to  you. 


CONTENTS 


NATURE 

Never  Weary 13 

The  Song  of  the  Pines 16 

Nature  and  Man 18 

The  Sea's  Secret 20 

The  Cat-bird 24 

The  Kennebec 27 

The  Storm 29 

The  Dream  of  the  Brook 31 

The  Leaf        32 

Only  a  Leaf 33 

A  Moonlight  Night  in  San  Mateo 34 

Evening 35 

The  Sublime 36 


LIFE 

Life's  Wonder 37 

The  Weed-grown  Path 41 

Outer  and  Inner 43 

Hidden  Springs 45 

Doubt 48 

Motherhood 49 

One  Left 51 

The  Emperor's  Hand 52 

The  Poets       53 

A  Block  of  Marble 54 

Unknown  Heroes 55 

Decorating  the  Soldiers'  Graves 56 


CONTEXTS 

The  Two  Conflicts :  1864 57 

Loneliness  of  Truth-seeking 60 

In  Bud 61 

Father :  1864 63 

A  Fancy 65 

God  made  our  Lives  to  be  a  Song 66 

One  Law ,     .  67 

None  liveth  to  Himself 69 

The  Shadow 70 

On  a  Poetess  publishing  late  in  Life 71 

Pursuit 72 

Young  and  Old 73 

The  Coining  Ship .  74 

In  Common  Things 76 

ToF.  J.  S 77 

Gertrude.     1868 78 

St.  Christofer 83 


LOVE 

Dante's  Praise  of  Beatrice 91 

My  River 92 

Disenchanted 93 

Love's  Garden 94 

Lethe 96 

Leander  to  Hero 98 

To  E.  in  Absence 99 

To  E 100 

The  Universe  lost  for  Love 101 

Love  is  Immortality loa 

Abelard  to  Heloise 103 

The  Hand 104 

Fate       105 

Will  Love  descend  ? 106 

The  Crime  against  Love 107 

What  shall  We  Do  ? 109 

The  Question no 

The  Shadow  on  the  Boach    .     .         in 


CONTENTS 


PROBLEMS 

Where  is  God? "3 

The  Age's  Unrest 114 

What  does  It  Bring? 117 

The  House  of  the  Soul 118 

The  Ancient 120 

My  Birth 123 

The  Forbidden  Song 125 

The  People 127 

Dead  Gods 129 

At  Sea 131 

The  Village  "Infidel" 134 

The  Poet's  Art 137 

The  Old  Problem 138 

Laughter  and  Death 139 

If  a  Ship,  a  Sea 140 

To-morrow 141 

A  Christmas  Thought 142 

"  Do  Men  gather  Figs  from  Thistles  ?" 143 

Infidelity 144 

Caliban 145 

PERSONS 

James  A.  Garfield 146 

Vanini 150 

Galileo 151 

Magellan 152 

Kepler       153 

Darwin       154 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 155 

The  People's  Poet 156 

R.  W.  S 157 

Of  R.  W.  S.     Early  Dei.l 158 


IO  CONTENTS 


POT-POURRI 

Labor  vs.  Capital 161 

All  Things  New i6t 

Heads  and  Hands 162 

Book  Compassion 162 

Man's  Ally 163 

Egotism 163 

Debt  to  the  Past 164 

A  Legal  Maxim 164 

Justice  Peeping 164 

The  Virtues  of  "  Fiat " 165 

Monopolists 166 

A  Rose       167 

A  Rich  Man 168 

Politics 169 

A  Query 170 

Members  of  One  Another 170 

"  As  Doves  to  their  Windows  " 171 

Compensation 172 

F.J.S .72 

Hawk  &  Co 173 

Heart  and  Brain 174 

Schopenhauer     174 

Christian  Charity  for  the  Jew 175 

Civil  Service  Reform 176 

Creeds 177 

The  King  and  the  Jackass 178 

A  True  Tale  from  Italy 179 

Woman's  Tears 180 

Woman's  Power 180 

Wisdom  and  Beauty 181 

Wrecked 181 

Man's  Critic i8t 

Love's  Dream 182 

Conquering  the  Conqueror •  182 

Mrs.  Poyser  on  Women i8« 


CONTENTS  1  I 

Esthetic  Piety 183 

The  Parrot  Creed 183 

Providence 184 

Fortune 185 

Death  wipes  the  Slate 185 

TIMES 

It  shall  Be       186 

The  Gate  of  the  New  Year,  1876 189 

When  will  He  Come  ? 192 

Facing  the  Unknown 196 

The  Undiscovered 199 

The  Christmas  Hope 201 

Contrasted  Greetings 205 

Easter  Bells 209 

Then  Only? 212 


SORROW  AND   HOPE 

Light  on  the  Cloud 217 

Mystery 218 

The  Pescadero  Pebbles 220 

Life  in  Death 222 

The  Dead  Ac«rn 223 

Going  to  Sleep 225 

Life  from  Death 227 

At  Twilight  Time 228 

The  Finished  Life 230 

Better  Off 232 

The  Dead  One's  Message 234 

Which  is  Better? 236 

A  Lesson  of  Trust       238 

The  Dead  Home 241 

The  Heart's  Spring-time 244 


T)ASSING  along  life's  dusty  road, 

To  rest  a  weary  hour, 
I've  loved  to  pause,  and  turn  aside 
To  pluck  some  simple  flower. 

It  may  be  weeds  I've  gathered  too ; 

But  even  a  weed  may  be 
As  fragrant  as  the  fairest  flower 

With  some  sweet  memory. 

But,  if  my  flowers  and  grasses  have 

No  beauty  to  your  eye, 
Think  they  may  speak  to  other  hearts, 

And  gently  pass  them  by. 


NATURE 

NEVER    WEARY 

(The  Sea) 

T    IFT  thy  white  hands  with  welcome, 
*~*     And  clap  them  on  the  shore, 
O  thou,  the  never  weary, 
The  young  forevermore  ! 

No  lover  loves  his  mistress 

As  I  do  love  the  sea, 
Or  hastes  with  such  swift  passion 

As  I  do  haste  to  thee. 

Through  all  the  year's  long  labor 

I  hear  thee  calling  still : 
As  thou  the  moon  obeyest, 

I  bow  me  to  thy  will. 

My  heart  bends  toward  thee  ever, 

Acknowledging  thy  sway, 
And  echoes  all  thy  moaning 

To  be  so  far  away. 


14  NATURE 

Men  call  thee  false  and  fickle, 
The  all-devouring  sea ; 

And  shudder  at  thy  caverns 
With  their  dread  mystery. 

But  thou  to  me  art  ever 
The  faithful  and  the  fond, 

Disclosing  half .  thy  beauty, 
But  hinting  more  beyond. 

Thine  infinite  suggestion 
Still  lures  me  to  thy  side ; 

Thy  quiet  murmur  soothes  me ; 
I  like  thy  stormy  pride. 

I  like  thee  with  thy  frowning, 
When  on  the  shingly  keys 

Thy  mighty  hands  are  beating 
The  tempest's  harmonies. 

I  like  thee  in  thy  slumber, 

When  heaves  thy  curving  breast, 

While  thou  dost  breathe  as  gently 
As  babe  when  rocked  to  rest. 

I  choose  thee  for  my  mistress, 
And  yield  thee  all  thy  will; 

Be  gentle  or  be  wrathful, 
But  I  will  love  thee  still. 


NEVER   WEARY  15 

Oh,  when  I  am  aweary 

Of  all  my  little  strife, 
Thou  tellest  me  a  story 

Of  tireless,  endless  life. 

Far  back  in  primal  aeons 

Thou  laughedst  as  to-day  ; 
And  all  the  slow-paced  ages 

Smiled  at  thy  youthful  play. 

Forever  young  thou  seemest, 
Thine  eye  undimmed  by  tears, 

Thy  green  locks  free  and  flowing 
As  in  the  earliest  years. 

I  stretch  my  hands  out  to  thee, 

I  lie  upon  thy  breast, 
And  with  thy  tireless  motion 

Thou  rockest  me  to  rest. 

My  little  life  so  weary 

Thy  croon  and  thy  caress 
Soothe  with  the  eternal  whisper 

That  knows  no  weariness. 

To  me,  my  brain  exhausted, 

My  energy  grown  dull, 
Thy  tide  proclaims  this  gospel, — 

God's  cup  is  always  full. 


I 6  NATURE 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  PINES 

T  LEFT  my  study,  dropped  my  books, 
-*•      And,  turning  from  the  town, 
Bethought  me  of  the  quiet  nooks 
Deep  hid  in  forests  brown. 

I  came  to  where  the  old  pines  stood, 

And  needle  carpets  spread  : 
The  sun's  gold  trickled  through  the  wood, 

The  winds  soughed  overhead. 

I  laid  me  down  in  restful  peace, 
And  watched  the  swaying  boughs, 

While  thought,  rejoiced  at  her  release, 
Went  wandering  in  drowse. 

And  as,  half-dreaming  in  my  place, 

Beneath  the  trees  I  lay, 
The  flecks  of  sunshine  on  my  face, 

The  tired  world  far  away, 

My  thinking  seemed  to  melt  and  flow 

As  grapes  melt  into  wines, 
Into  a  song-stream  sweet  and  low, — 

The  winds  among  the  pines. 


THE   SONG   OF    THE    PINKS  \J 

They  sung  —  my  thoughts — the  story  o'er 

Of  how,  since  time  began, 
Life  started  on  the  ocean  floor 

And  climbed  up  into  man. 

And  then  more  strange  the  chanting  grew  ; 

It  swelled  so  glad  and  free 
While  rose  the  coming  years  to  view 

And  all  the  fair  to-be. 

I  listened  till  my  heart  beat  high 

To  haste  the  laggard  years  ! 
And,  when  I  roused  me  with  a  sigh, 

My  lids  were  wet  with  tears. 

I  kept  but  snatches  of  my  dream, — 
Oh,  would  the  whole  might  stay  ! 

It  dwindled  like  a  mountain  stream 
The  Summer  dries  away. 

But,  as  I  mused  the  vision  o'er, 

A  peace  was  in  my  breast, 
As  when  Night  folds  her  starry  door 

And  soothes  the  flowers  to  rest. 

For  still  my  glimmering  dream-glow  makes 

My  hope's  high  hill-tops  bright. 
Like  the  faint  streak  the  morning  wakes, 

When  wanes  the  summer  night. 


iS  NATURE 

For  man's  deep  midnight  now  is  past; 

And,  though  the  shadows  lie 
Still  in  the  valleys,  now  at  last 

Dawn's  in  the  eastern  sky. 


NATURE  AND  MAN 

A  S  sleeps  the  ^Eolian  harp,  but  wakes 
**•     Touched  by  the  fingers  of  the  wind, 
So  nature  her  weird  music  makes 
Only  as  breathed  on  by  the  mind. 

The  artist  fingers  of  the  sea 

Beat  out  their  music  on  the  shore, — 
A  pensive,  far-off  melody,  — 

Or  smite  the  keys  with  crash  and  roar. 

But  pensive  sigh  and  thunder  deep 
Are  in  the  ears  that  hear  alone  : 

They  absent,  sound  falls  off  asleep, 
And  voiceless  Motion  has  no  tone. 

The  rose-tint,  or  the  colors  fair 

Of  rainbow,  or  the  surf's  white  gleam, 

If  no  eye  sees,  are  less  than  air, 
The  viewless  fancies  <  f  a  dream. 


NATURE   AND    MAN  19 

'Tis  this  strange  consciousness  that  hears  ; 

Tis  this,  and  this  alone,  that  sees. 
Man  is  an  organ  :  eyes  and  ears, 

On  which  the  world  plays,  are  his  keys. 

The  music  is  not  in  the  touch 

Whose  fingers  run  the  key-board  o'er 

This  only  motion,  such  or  such, — 
Motion  alone,  and  nothing  more. 

If  no  ear  hears,  the  motion's  all  : 
The  endless  motion  still  may  play, 

But  sounds  must  into  silence  fall 
When  those  who  listen  go  away. 

Bend  low  before  the  mystery  ! 

Man's  world  lives  only  in  man's  thought : 
The  wondrous  things  we  hear  and  see 

Are  in  his  loom  of  fancy  wrought. 

Does  naught  exist*  then,  save  the  mind  ? 

Nay,  not  that  only.     Some  grand  Power 
Doth  endless  links  of  life  unwind, 

Creating  all  things  every  hour. 

While,  in  the  mind's  alembic,  these  — 
Motions  of  earth  and  sea  and  air  — 

Are  changed  to  finest  harmonies, 
Or  clothed  in  forms  of  beauty  rare. 


20  NATURE 


THE  SEA'S  SECRET 

T  SAT  on  the  beach  at  twilight, 
•••      And  watched  the  rising  moon, 
While  on  my  ear  the  wavelets 
Beat  out  their  soothing  croon. 

The  town-life,  with  its  worry, 

Had  ^aded  to  a  dream  : 
Life's  toil  had  turned  to  fancy, 

And  fancies  real  did  seem. 

And  so  I  watched  the  wavelets 

Fall  at  my  feet  in  play, 
And  let  my  dream-wings  flutter 

Through  dreamlands  far  away. 

The  curling  foam-flakes  whispered 
How,  tossing  round  the  world, 

They'd  kissed  a  tropic  island, 
As  past  it  they  were  whirled. 

It  was  so  fair,  they  told  me, 

That,  though  they  could  not  stay, 

None  might  forget  the  vision  ; 
It  haunted  them  alway. 


THE   SEA'S    SECRET  21 

"  It  is,"  they  said,  "this  longing, 

That  ne'er  outworn  may  be, 
That  makes  us  moan  forever 

The  secret  of  the  sea." 

"  What  is  this  secret  ?     Tell  me." 
The  murmurous  answer  fell :  — 

"We've  sought  for  one  to  listen, 
That  we  the  tale  might  tell. 

"  But  none  could  understand  us, 

So  evermore  in  vain 
We  sob  in  plaintive  music 

That  no  man  can  explain." 

The  while  I  sat  and  listened, 

The  ripple  on  the  beach 
Of  white  waves  in  the  moonshine 

Became  a  silvery  speech. 

"  That  island  of  our  vision 

We  saw  so  far  away, 
We  hoped  that  men  might  find  it 

Some  fair  and  happy  day. 

"  For  we  have  heard  men's  sighing, 

And  we  have  seen  their  tears, 
While  up  the  weary  ages 

They've  toiled  along  the  years. 


NATURE 

"  So  when  upon  the  ocean 

They  launched  their  ships  at  last, 
We  whispered,  'We  will  lead  them 

Where  sorrow  shall  be  past.' 

"  For  we  had  seen  the  island 

Uplift  its  palms  in  air, 
And  known  it  for  that  Eden 

Where  never  comes  despair. 

"  So  round  their  ships  we  rippled, 
And  chased  the  winds  at  play, 

Still  hoping  we  might  bring  them 
To  that  land  far  away. 

"  But  ever  are  we  baffled  : 
By  adverse  currents  whirled, 

To  other  oceans  drifting, 
Or  on  the  breakers  hurled, 

"We  see  the  vain  endeavor, 
We  hear  the  hopeless  cry, 

While  still  through  fruitless  labors 
They  seek,  find  not,  and  die. 

"  And  yet  each  wave  that  shoreward 
Comes  rippling  up  the  bay 

Has  seen  the  vision  splendid, — 
That  island  far  away. 


THE   SEA  S    SECRET  23 

"  But  still,  with  all  our  longing 

That  men  this  rest  may  gain, 
Fate  laughs  at  all  our  labor  ; 

And  ' false,  devouring  main  ' 

"  Men  call  us,  while  so  gladly 

We  would  a  pathway  be 
To  lead  them  to  this  peaceful, 

Fair  island  of  the  sea. 

"  But,  'stead  of  this,  forever 
Where  priceless  treasures  sleep. 

Fate  whelms  both  ship  and  sailor 
Beneath  the  moaning  deep. 

"This  is  the  sea's  sad  secret, — 

That,  do  whate'er  we  may, 
The  goal  of  our  endeavor 

Still  lies  so  far  away. 

"  'Tis  this,  if  men  but  knew  it, 
That  makes  the  sea's  low  moan. 

In  hours  of  weary  longing, 
So  answer  to  their  own. 

"  One  age-long,  endless  struggle, 

The  unattained  to  gain, 
The  ever  onward  reaching, 

And  reaching  still  in  vain, — 


24  NATURE 

"  This  is  the  heart's  sad  secret, 
Wherever  men  may  be  ; 

And  this  —  the  heart's  deep  echo, — 
The  secret  of  the  sea." 


THE  CAT-BIRD 


the  night  and  through  the  day 
-*•     Runs  a  babbling  brook  away, 
'Neath  the  hill  and  to  the  river 
Through  the  pasture,  on  forever. 
Shadowy  playmates  still  I  see, 
Rivalling  the  brooklet's  glee  ; 
And  the  cat-bird's  voice  I  hear, 
That  so  piqued  my  childhood's  ear. 
Saucy,  mocking  cat-bird 

On  the  alder  spray, 
Even  now  I  hear  thee, 
Though  so  far  away. 

Thou  incarnate,  wicked  joy, 
How  I  watched  thee  as  a  boy, — 
Mocking  with  thy  saucy  call 
Robin,  jay,  kingfisher,  all, — 
Picking  up  the  varied  notes 
As  they  fell  from  feathery  throats, 


THE   CAT-BIRD  25 

Screeching  as  in  demon  glee 
Our  astonishment  to  see  ! 
Ashen-coated  cat-bird 
On  the  alder  spray, 
Mocking  all  thy  fellows 
Through  the  live-long  day. 

Thou  highwayman  of  the  wood, 
Our  New  England  Robin  Hood, 
Eating  eggs  thou  did'st  not  lay, 
Making  other  nests  thy  prey, 
How  with  childish  wrath  we  heard 
Tales  of  thee,  thou  wicked  bird, — 
Of  feathered  maidens  in  distress, — 
Longing  still  to  make  redress  ! 
But  thou,  saucy  cat-bird 

On  the  alder  spray, 
All  our  maledictions 

Mocked  and  jeered  away  ! 

Oft  amid  the  leaves  descried, 

With  thy  pert  head  cocked  one  side, 

Oddly  jerking  thy  long  tail, 

How  I've  heard  thee  jeer  and  rail, 

Scolding  on  through  all  the  weathers, 

Like  a  Carlyle  dressed  in  feathers  : 

NoT2  TO  THIRD  STANZA.  —  This  stanza  is  intended  to  set  forth  the 
popular  traditions  as  to  the  cat-bird's  character.  The  author  —  as  one  of  his 
lovers  —  is  inclined  to  think  all  such  slanderous  rumors  unfounHeH 


26  NATURE 

Then,  to  mock  the  mockery, 
Thou  woulclst  bubble  o'er  in  glee. 
O  thou  cynic  cat-bird, 

Mimicking  mankind, 
All  our  whims  and  fancies 
Laughing  down  the  wind  ! 

Tragic,  comic  actor  thou, 
For  thy  stage  an  alder  bough  ; 
Now,  some  borrowed  joyous  note 
Pouring  from  thy  feigning  throat ; 
Now,  from  wailing  puss  in  sorrow, 
Her  alarm  cry  thou  dost  borrow  ; 
Till,  to  us  bewildered,  seems 
Each  but  fancies  of  our  dreams. 
Mimic  actor,  cat-bird, 

Thus  thy  betters  do, 
Till  'tween  good  and  evil 

Nothing  seemeth  true. 

Cat-bird,  but  I  love  thee  still, 
By  the  brook-side,  'neath  the  hill, 
Laughing,  mocking  in  the  trees, 
Feathered  Mephistopheles  ; 
Playing  out  thy  varied  part, 
Mirroring  the  human  heart ; 
Fretting,  scolding,  scornful,  then 
Bursting  out  in  joy  again  ! 


THE    KENNEBEC  27 

Good  and  evil  cat-bird 

On  the  alder  spray, 
Like  thy  contradictions 

Run  our  lives  away. 


THE  KENNEBEC 

now  the  redd'ning  sun  goes  down, 
And  slants  his  beams  across, 
Through  autumn  woods,  past  shadows  brown, 
O'er  many  a  mound  of  moss. 

And  settles  down  a  brooding  still 

Upon  the  evening  gray  ; 
While  east,  the  moon,  above  the  hill, 

Climbs  up  her  starry  way. 

Between  its  banks,  in  shadowy  sheen, 

My  river  runneth  by  : 
Broad  sweeps  it  past  the  meadows  green, 

Itself  blue,  like  the  sky. 

Now  on  its  bosom  all  at  rest 

I  push  my  boat  from  shore. 
This  night,  I'll  float  upon  thy  breast 

Or  plash  the  dripping  oar. 


28  NATURE 

The  wavelets  dance  around  my  prow, 
And  laugh  in  moonshine  bright : 

List  to  their  tiny  music  now 
Rise  on  the  glimmering  night! 

See  where  the  shadows,  falling  down 
This  side  the  rising  moon, 

Outline  the  ragged  bluff  so  brown  : 
They'll  all  flee  shoreward  soon. 

Meanwhile,  here  in  the  shadow  dim, 
Where  looms  the  hill-top  high, 

I  watch  the  branch-torn,  ragged  rim 
Cut  sharp  against  the  sky. 

There,  just  below,  a  shadowy  band, 
The  bridge  hangs  o'er  the  flood, 

By  which  two  villages  clasp  hand 
In  loving  brotherhood. 

Beyond  the  bridge, —  I  know  it  well, — 
The  church  which  elms  embower ; 

And  now  rings  out  the  evening  bell 
Upon  this  perfect  hour. 

Sweet  village  !     Thou  to  me  dost  seem 
A  picture  free  from  care  : 

Thou  art  a  lovely  country  dream, 
And,  like  a  dream,  most  fair. 


THE   STORM  29 

Sweet  river  !     While  the  city's  din 

Goes  up  with  ceaseless  roar, 
I  wander  back  to  what  has  been, 

And  sit  upon  thy  shore. 

Again,  my  boat's  side  leaning  o'er, 

I  muse  and  dream,  and  see, 
Through  childhood's  wondering  eyes  once  more, 

The  things  that  were  to  be. 


THE  STORM 

'  I  "HE  sky  is  a  sieve  that  the  rough  wind  shakes  ; 

•••       And  far  and  wide  o'er  the  frozen  earth 
Flutter  and  fall  the  flour-white  flakes, 
Like  ashes  strewn  on  the  wintry  hearth. 

The  air  is  thick  with  the  blinding  fall  ; 

The  trees  are  ghosts  in  the  twilight  gloom  ; 
Night  slowly  lowers  her  mournful  pall 

O'er  the  shrouded  earth  in  her  sky-domed  tomb. 

The  forests  moan  to  the  shivering  air, 

While  the  hoarse  winds  call  from  the  icy  rock 

That  rears  its  gray  front,  bleak  and  bare, 
To  shatter  the  ravening  waves'  wild  shock. 


30  NATURE 

Oh,  pity  the  sailor's  fate  to-night ! 

For  bitter  and  keen  is  the  north  wind's  breath  ; 
And  the  dun  storm  quenches  the  beacon  light, 

Now  false  to  its  warning  of  wreck  and  death. 

As  a  frighted  bird  flees  the  hawk's  career, 
The  lost  bark  flies  o'er  the  reeling  wave  : 

Their  hearts  stand  still  in  their  breasts  for  fear, 
And  their  eyes  strain  out  on  a  gaping  grave. 

A  shivering  shock,  and  a  piercing  yell  ! 

A  rush  of  waters,  a  sidelong  heel  ! 
The  gun's  dull  boom  her  last  farewell, — 

And  the  waves  surge  over  her,  deck  arid  keel ! 

Oh,  pity  the  sailor's  fate  to-night  ! 

And  pity  the  homes  that  wait  in  vain  ! 
The  pitiless  sun,  in  the  morrow's  light, 

Will  laugh,  as  of  old,  with  the  waves  again. 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  BROOK  31 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  BROOK 

A  BROOK  slept  through  an  afternoon, 
/*      And  as  it  slept  it  dreamed  the  while  ; 
It  talked  in  sleep  with  childlike  croon, 
And  rippled  in  a  sunny  smile. 

It  dreamed  of  children  that  had  played 

Along  its  banks  as  on  it  ran : 
Then  fixed  its  thought  on  one  that  strayed, 

More  fair  than  all, —  the  little  man  ! 

On  one  that  strayed ;  and  then  the  gleam 
Of  sunshine  changed  to  shade  profound  : 

While  sadly  moaned  the  sleeping  stream, — 
It  dreamed  the  little  lad  was  drowned. 


32  NATURE 

THE  LEAF 

French  of  Arnault 

T^ROM  off  thy  frail  stem  broke, 
•••        Poor,  withered  leaf,  and  dead, 
Where  goest  thou  ? 

It  said  : 

I  know  not.     From  the  oak, 
My  sole  support,  the  storm 
Has  torn  my  frost-browned  form. 
Since  then,  by  fickle  wind, 
Zephyr  or  Aquilon, 
From  forest  to  the  plain, 
To  vale  from  mountain-top, 
I'm  hurried,  driven  on. 
My  path  I  never  mind : 
Where'er  the  breezes  blow, 
On  land  or  on  the  main, 
I  go,  nor  care  to  stop. 
I  go  where  all  things  go, — 
Where  goes  the  beauteous  rose, 
Where  the  poet's  laurel  goes. 


ONLY    A   LEAF 


33 


ONLY  A  LEAF 

T  T  was  only  a  little  leaf, 
^      That  hung  for  a  while  on  its  bough  : 
It  danced  and  fluttered  ;  but  life  was  brief, 
And  its  place  is  vacant  now. 

It  was  only  a  little  leaf 

Did  it  pay  to  live  at  all  ? 
The  sun  smiled  on  it,  the  cold  rains  came, 

And  then  it  was  doomed  to  fall. 

It  was  only  a  little  leaf ; 

But  on  it  did  shine  the  sun, 
The  winds  did  caress  it,  the  birds  did  sing, 

And  it  lived  till  its  work  was  done. 

It  was  only  a  little  leaf, 

But  it  took  its  gladsome  part 
In  the  great  earth's  life  ;  and,  at  the  last, 

Earth  clasped  it  to  her  heart. 


34  NATURE 


A  MOONLIGHT  NIGHT  IN  SAN  MATEO 


T  very  lovely,  when  as  now,  O  Night, 
The  brilliant  blue  of  heaven  looks  adown, 
One  broad  expanse  of  brightness  ;  and  the  brown 
Old  mountains  robe  themselves  in  soft  moonlight  ! 
My  study  window  looks  out  on  a  sight 
Of  rarest  beauty.     See,  the  moon  has  thrown 
From  shore  to  shore,  across  the  waters,  prone 
Over  St.  Francis  Bay,  of  broad  beams  bright, 

A  massy  bridge  of  silver  !     Pitying  Moon, 

Dost  thou  see  where,  three  thousand  miles  away, 

Lone,  in  their  lonely  house,  my  loved  ones  sleep, 
And  dream  perchance  of  one  returning  soon  ; 
While,  on  the  hill-top  near,  thy  tender  ray 

Falls  on  two  graves  o'er  which  the  night  dews 
weep  ? 


EVENING  35 


EVENING 

A  FTER  the  noisy  day,  with  rush  and  roar, 
**•     Has  all  the  chambers  of  the  soul  possest, 

Its  holy  nooks  disturbed  with  rout  unblest, 
How  sweet  the  lengthening  shadows  on  the  floor, 
As  soft  the  old  nurse,  Night,  shuts  to  the  door, 
Draws  down  the  star-pinned  curtains  of  the  west, 
Hushes  the  birds  and  all  the  flowers  to  rest, 
Puts  out  the  lights,  and  brings  us  peace  once  more. 

Then  we,  our  heads  in  our  earth-cradle  laid, 
Trust  all  to  her  strong  arms  and  watchful  care, 
While  suns  and  planets  rock  us  in  our  sleep. 
We  drift  into  the  dark  all  unafraid, 
For  all  the  eternal  forces  are  aware 

That  'tis  the  Universe's  child  they  keep. 


36  NATURE 


THE  SUBLIME 

DWELLS   the  sublime  but  on   some  mountain- 
height, 

Where,  standing  lone,  near  neighbor  to  the  sky, 
One  looks  sheer  down  the  steep  immensity 
Where  breaks  a  soundless  torrent  on  his  sight  ? 
Come  with  me  when  a  million  stars  are  bright ; 
Stand  on  a  plain  where  neither  hill  nor  tree 
Breaks  the  wide  level  far  as  eye  can  see, 
And  feel  the  earth  sweep  onward  through  the  night ! 

Behind,  the  low,  flat  reaches  of  the  sand ; 
Before,  the  measureless,  wide-heaving  sea  ; 

Far  out,  one  lone  ship,  with  its  human  life  : 
Then,  while  the  rhythmic  beat  upon  the  strand 
But  makes  the  silence  awful,  tell  to  me 
What  cares  the  Universe  for  all  our  strife  ! 


LIFE 


LIFE'S  WONDER 

"vanity  of  vanities  "  :  thus  said 
The  Preacher,  in  the  ages  long  since  dead. 

And  "vanity  of  vanities,"  the  cry 
Rings  on  the  air  of  every  century. 

The  worldling,  pleasure-worn,  toil-wearied,  asks, 
"Is  life  worth  living,"  with  its  weary  tasks? 

Religion,  with  her  faithless  moan,  appears, 
And  says,  The  world  is  but  "  a  vale  of  tears." 

"O  fools  and  blind  !  "  the  wonder-feast  to  spite, 
Whose  own  wild  folly's  dulled  your  appetite  ! 

A  blind  man  through  a  wondrous  picture  hall 
Went  muttering  about  each  "  empty  wall." 

A  deaf  man,  when  a  symphony  was  sung, 

Much  marvelled  at  each  mute  and  voiceless  tongue. 


38  LIFE 

And  one,  whose  sense  of  smell  was  lost,  deplored 
Their  folly  who  the  odorous  rose  adored. 

And  one,  heart-shrivelled  by  his  heartless  loves, 
Mocked  at  young  lovers  and  at  cooing  doves. 

And  one,  who  talked  of  solid  facts,  oft  smiled 
At  those  by  poetry  and  art  beguiled. 

"  O  fools  and  blind  !  "     The  farmer  wonders  why 
The  scholar  studies,  with  admiring  eye, 

The  tiny  scratches  on  the  boulder's  top, 
Whose  huge  obstruction  only  hurts  his  crop. 

Meanwhile,  the  scholar  in  the  boulder  sees 
The  wondrous  story  of  lost  centuries. 

The  stolid  Arab,  under  desert  skies, 
Sees  where  afar  the  Pyramids  arise  ; 

But  on  their  rocky,  weather-beaten  page, 
Reads  not  the  strange  tale  of  a  buried  age. 

The  peasant  by  the  Swiss  lakes  sees  not  there 
The  pile-raised  village  lift  itself  in  air. 

And  bones  and  arrow-heads  are  rubbish  all 
To  him  who  hears  no  far-off  ages  call, 

From  out  the  silence  of  the  past,  to  say, 
"We  were  the  fathers  of  your  glad  to-day." 


LIFE'S   AVONDliR  39 

(  Mi,  wonder  of  the  world,  whose  surface  bright 
Fills  wide-eyed  childhood  with  a  fresh  delight ! 

I>eneath  the  surface,  to  exploring  eyes, 

Deep  yawns  to  deep,  and  heights  on  heights  arise. 

Each  grass-blade  and  each  gaseous  atom  holds 
An  infinite  mystery,  that  his  thought  unfolds 

Who  knows  each  molecule  the  kinsman  is 
Of  every  star-ray  piercing  the  abyss. 

And  not  one  lowly  blossom  in  the  vale 
But  to  the  instructed  ear  can  tell  a  tale, 

Whose  opening  chapter  was  the  eternal  past, 
And  is  not  done  while  endless  ages  last. 

Short  is  his  fathom-line  who  thinks  he  sounds  — 
And  finds  it  shallow  —  being's  dread  profounds. 

The  emptiness  is  in  the  pool  that  lies 

Too  shoal  to  hold  the  stars  and  boundless  skies. 


Oh,  when  I  look  upon  the  laughing  face 
Of  children,  or  on  woman's  gentle  grace  ; 

Or  when  I  grasp  a  true  friend  by  the  hand, 
And  feel  a  bond  I  partly  understand  ; 


40  IJFF. 

When  mountains  thrill  me,  or  when  by  the  sea 
The  plaintive  waves  rehearse  their  mystery 

Or  when  I  watch  the  moon  with  strange  delight. 
Treading  her  pathway  'mid  the  stars  at  night ; 

Or  when  the  one  I  love,  with  kisses  prest, 
I  clasp  with  bliss  unspoken  to  my  breast, — 

So  strange,  so  deep,  so  wondrous  life  appears, 
I  have  no  words,  but  only  happy  tears  ! 

I  cannot  think  it  all  shall  end  in  naught; 
That  the  abyss  shall  be  the  grave  of  thought ; 

That  e'er  oblivion's  shoreless  sea  shall  roll 
O'er  love  and  wonder  and  the  lifeless  soul. 

But,  e'en  though  this  the  end,  I  cannot  say 
I'm  sorry  that  I  saw  the  light  of  day. 

So  wondrous  seems  this  life  I  live  to  me, 
Whate'er  the  end,  to-day  I  hear  and  see .' 

To-day  I  think  and  hope .'  and  so  for  this  — 
If  it  must  be  —  for  just  so  much  of  bliss, — 

Bliss  threaded  through  with  pain, —  I  bless  the  Power 
That  holds  me  up  to  gaze  one  wondrous  hour! 


THE   WEED-GROWN   PATH  41 


THE  WEED-GROWN  PATH 

JD  ETWEEN  two  hearts  a  pathway  led, 

Oft  trod  in  joyous  days  ; 
And,  many  a  time,  they  each  one  said, 
"  So  shall  it  be  always  !  ' 

The  morning  hours  went  singing  by, 
And  eve,  with  sunset's  gold  ; 

While  every  joy  or  hope  or  sigh 
Each  to  the  other  told. 

So  near,  that  snatches  of  a  song 

Each  from  the  other  heard  , 
And  subtle  thoughts  the  whole  day  long 

Passed  swiftly  without  word. 

So  smooth  the  pathway  grew  at  last 
That  one  would  swear  the  day 

Could  never  come  when  no  more  passed 
Such  loving  feet  that  way. 

A  whisper  of  suspicion  blew, 

One  day,  hone  knew  from  where  ; 

And  each  one  close  the  casement  drew : 
A  chill  was  in  the  air. 


42  LIFE 

And  now  the  path  with  weeds  is  grown, 
The  singing  birds  are  fled : 

Tn  each  house  sitteth  one  alone  ; 
The  happy  past  is  dead. 


OUTER  AND  INNER 

T    MAY  not  saunter  in  the  sun 
•*•      As  when  the  days  were  long, 
While  Summer's  thousand  voices  run 
Through  all  the  scale  of  song. 

I  may  not  lounge  upon  the  bank 
Where  smooth  the  brook  gleams  by, 

And  gaze  down  where  the  sunlight  sank 
As  deep  as  is  the  sky. 

I  may  not  whisper  with  the  breeze 

Upon  the  lush,  sweet  grass, 
And,  dreaming,  watch  the  shadowy  trees 

Backward  and  forward  pass. 

I  may  not  build  upon  the  clouds 

Grenada  castles  fair, 
Where  bright-haired  visions  troop  in  crowds 

As  high  and  pure  as  air. 


OUTER   AND    INNER  43 

I  may  not  wander  in  the  woods 

And  smell  the  fragrant  gums, 
Where  naught  of  weary  life  intrudes, 

And  only  healing  comes. 

For  Winter,  cheerless  Winter,  reigns  ! 

The  conquered  Summer  dies. 
Her  victor  lords  it  o'er  the  plains, 

And  sweeps  the  dreary  skies. 

But,  driven  thus  within  my  door, 

I  find  a  world  as  fair, 
In  which  dwell  all  the  gone-before, — 

The  wise,  the  good,  the  rare. 

Suns  of  a  thousand  summers  past 

Shine  on  me  from  my  grate, — 
A  light  from  out  the  aeons  vast 

That  antedate  all  date. 

And  all  the  singers  of  all  lands, 

In  type's  strange  magic  kept, 
Wake  their  sweet  songs  at  my  commands, 

Where  in  the  leaves  they've  slept. 

And,  while  I  dream  above  the  page, 

Summer  is  in  the  sky  ; 
I  watch  the  July  lightnings  rage, 

Or  hear  some  brook  purl  by. 


44  LIKF. 

I  feel  the  soft  grass  'neath  my  feet, 
The  tree-boughs  sway  o'erhead, 

The  air  is  with  June  fragrance  sweet, 
And  all  the  storms  are  fled. 

I  build  grand  castles  in  the  air, 
And  in  their  portals  stand 

Sweet  visions  of  good  women  rare, 
And  men  of  every  land. 

I  talk  familiar  with  the  great, 

I  worship  with  the  good  ; 
Their  true  words  still  reverberate. 

And  thrill  to  loftiest  mood. 

And,  going  inward,  deeper  still, 

And  climbing  up  as  high, 
By  hidden  stairs  I  rise,  until 

I  gaze  out  on  the  sky. 

For  there  are  windows  of  the  soul ; 

And,  listening  at  these, 
I  hear  the  mighty  ages  roll 

That  make  the  eternities. 

And,  up  through  mists  of  blinding  light, 

A  way  no  man  hath  trod, 
I  dare  to  look,  till  on  my  sight 

There  dawns  the  face  of  God. 


HIDDEN    SPRINGS  45 


And  so  I  bless  the  winter  winds 
That  shut  the  outer  door  ; 

For  who  the  inner  vision  finds 
Knows  he  was  blind  before. 


HIDDEN  SPRINGS 

T  T  P  on  the  hillside,  far  away, 
^      There  is  a  hidden  spring 
That  never  sees  the  light  of  day, 
And  where  no  bird  doth  sing. 

It  darkly  wells,  'mid  rocks  and  moss, 

Lost  in  the  thicket  deep  ; 
Above  it,  trailing  creepers  toss, 

And  dripping  dew-drops  weep. 

But,  down  below,  its  waters  run 
To  feed  the  roots  of  flowers ; 

Where  bright  birds  glitter  in  the  sun, 
And  sing  through  happy  hours. 

It  makes  a  brook  where  children  play 
It  clothes  the  fields  in  grasses ; 

Its  path  is  beauty  all  the  way, 
As  down  the  vale  it  passes. 


46  LIFE 

The  mill-wheels  hum  along  its  side  ; 

It  builds  the  busy  town  ; 
And  deeply,  in  its  glassy  tide, 

The  sweet  stars  look  adown. 

How  many  noblest  deeds  of  men 
Flow  from  the  hidden  springs, 

Shut  all  away  from  human  ken, 
And  kept  as  sacred  things, — 

The  grief-fed  springs  within  the  heart, 
All  clouded  o'er  with  doubt, 

Where  death  our  treasures  smote  apart, 
And  healing  tears  gushed  out ! 

The  graves  of  loved  ones  far  away, 
Up  the  dim  track  of  years, 

Still  nerve  the  purpose  of  to-day 
To  rise  above  our  fears. 

Oh !  many  a  tender  word  is  said, 
And  gentle  deed  is  wrought, 

In  memory  of  the  cherished  dead 
That  live  still  in  our  thought. 

The  orphans,  that  the  mother  love 
Of  childless  mothers  saves, 

May  thank  the  grief  that  bends  above 
The  newly  sodded  graves. 


HIDDEN   SPRINGS  47 

And  many  a  man,  whose  noble  fight 

For  truth  has  lifted  men, 
Knows  some  dead  loved  one's  deathless  might 

His  motive  power  has  been. 

O  tear-fed,  hidden  springs  that  well 

Up  from  the  heart's  great  deep, 
The  world  its  debt  can  never  tell 

To  those  that  work  and  weep, — 

That  work  out  in  the  open  day, 

That  weep  when  none  are  nigh, 
And  only  by  sweet  deeds  betray 

The  heart's  sad  mystery. 


48  LIFE 


DOUBT 

'IS  nature's  law:  that,  once  at  rest, 

The  boulder  should  forever  lie 
Unmoved  beneath  the  placid  sky, 
Asleep  upon  earth's  quiet  breast ; 

That,  once  in  motion,  worlds  shall  sweep 

Forever  on  their  destined  way  ; 

That,  through  the  night  and  through  the  day, 
Unswerved  their  pathways  they  should  keep. 

And  so  the  mind  of  man  would  cling 
Forever  to  its  old-time  faith, 
Whatever  word  the  new  age  saith, 

Whatever  light  the  new  suns  bring. 

Unquiet  are  the  waves  of  doubt 

That  toss  forever  round  the  world, 

On  which  our  restless  ships  are  whirled 

As  tides  flow  in  and  tides  flow  out. 

But,  rotting  on  the  oozy  strands, 

Our  ships  would  crumble  and  decay, 
Did  not  the  waves  about  them  play, 

And  sweep  them  off  to  other  lands. 


MOTHERHOOD  49 


MOTHERHOOD 

SWEET,  delicious  motherhood  ! 
I,  even  I,  am  part  — 
I  feel  it  next  my  heart  — 

Of  that  strange  power  that  worlds  did  brood, 
In  which  all  life  doth  start. 

It  is  the  mighty  God,  I  know, 

Who  thrills  my  being  through, — 
He  lives  in  star  and  dew  — 

And,  as  June  roses  bud  and  blow, 
So  bids  me  blossom  too. 

Within  my  soul  the  sacred  root 

Of  this  new  life  runs  down, — 
Sweet  love  the  seed  hath  sown  — 

Thence  upward  grows  and  comes  to  fruit, 
And  all  my  life  doth  crown. 

I  am  become  creator  then : 

God's  secret  I  can  guess, — 
O  wondrous  happiness  !  — 

I  stand,  the  mother  proud  of  men, 

That  strong  sons  love  and  bless. 


SO  LIFE 

Close  at  the  universe's  core, 

And  out  through  all  its  range, — 
It  rules  life,  death,  and  change  — 

This  secret  lives  forevermore, 

Sacred,  divine,  and  strange. 

The  soul  that  doth  this  burden  miss, 
Unlinked  in  being's  chain, 
It  seeks  a  fancy  vain  — 

Shirking  God's  care,  life's  keenest  bliss 
Loses,  nor  finds  again. 

The  cradle  is  God's  purest  shrine  : 
At  this  fair  fount  of  life, — 
Hush  here,  O  world,  your  strife  ! 

Bow  with  veiled  eyes,  and  call  divine 
The  mother  crowned  as  wife. 


ONE   LEFT 


ONE  LEFT 

/T~*HE  one  babe  lost  is  the  one  babe  left ; 
•*•       The  others  are  grown  and  gone  away. 
So  cruel  it  seemed  when  first  bereft, 
Yet  the  lost  is  the  only  one  left  to-day ! 

I  watched  them  grow  out  of  my  longing  arms, 
While  each  in  turn  lost  the  baby  face  : 

The  years  fled  away  with  those  winsome  charms, 
And  manhood  and  womanhood  took  their  place. 

And  now  they've  made  them  homes  of  their  own, 
While  I  by  the  fireside  rock  and  dream : 

And,  oh,  I  should  be  so  all  alone, 

Did  not  the  past  like  the  present  seem ! 

But,  while  I  am  rocking,  my  babe  again, 
That  I  lost,  far  off  in  the  dimming  years, 

I  clasp  with  the  joy  that  is  kin  to  pain, 
And  water  my  dusty  heart  with  tears. 


52  LIFE 


THE  EMPEROR'S  HAND 


hand,  that  with  its  shaping  force 
•*-       Had  moulded  empires  at  its  will, 
Or  stayed  at  flood  the  people's  course, 

Or  tempests  hushed  with,  "  Peace,  be  still  "  ; 

That  hand  that  over  Lodi's  bridge 
Cleft  through  the  leaden  storm  a  path, 

And  on  the  Alpine  summit's  ridge 
Defied  the  eternal  ice  king's  wrath,  — 

That  hand  now  pats  his  horse's  mane 
As  on  he  rideth  through  the  town  : 

The  people's  shout  breaks  out  again, 
But  at  his  horse  he  looketh  down. 

So  sometimes  does  a  tempest  hush, 
When  it  has  had  its  stormy  hour, 

To  whisper  with  a  wayside  bush 
Or  lovingly  caress  a  flower. 

That  hand,  that  shook  a  continent, 
That  Europe  bent  beneath  its  sway, 

In  lone  St.  Helen's  discontent 
It  wiped  an  Emperor's  tear  away. 


THE  POETS  S3 


THE  POETS 

S~\  POETS,  seated  on  Parnassus'  height, 

^-^     Or  ranged  in  groups  upon  its  sides  !  I  hear 

Your  deathless  songs  hummed  low,  or  ringing  clear 
To  drown  the  world's  noise  in  your  sweet  delight. 
And  glad  am  I  to  keep  you  still  in  sight, 

Though  to  your  high  seats  I  may  not  come  near. 

For,  as  the  stars  do  make  the  heavens  dear, 
While  we  on  earth  walk  through  the  dreary  night ; 

So  dost  thou  shine  upon  us,  and  send  down 
The  music  of  thy  rhythmic  motions  sweet 

To  make  us  know  that  harmony  still  reigns. 
Could  I  but  trust  thou  wouldst  not  on  me  frown, 
I'd  climb  up  to  the  footstool  of  thy  seat, 
And  with  my  pipe  re-echo  thy  glad  strains. 


54 


LIFE 


A  BLOCK  OF  MARBLE 

'I  WHITE  possibility  !     Before  thee  now, 
*  *       With  chisel  and  with  mallet  in  my  hand, 

A  musing  artist,  hesitant  I  stand, 
And  wonder  with  what  shape  I'll  thee  endow, — 
A  grand  Athene,  with  majestic  brow ; 
A  raging  Fury,  with  her  flaming  brand  ; 
Diana,  leading  on  her  huntress  band  ; 
Or  sea-nymph  sporting  round  some  rippling  prow  ? 

Or  shall  I  carve  out  Aphrodite  fair, 

Who  melteth  with  her  eyes  the  hearts  of  men  ? 

Or,  better  yet,  I'll  make  a  Victory, 
Whose  upward  look  shall  rouse  men  from  despair, 
Discouraged  souls  thrill  with  new  hope  again, 
And  give  them  strength  to  breathe  a  nobler  air. 


UNKNOWN   HEROES  55 


UNKNOWN  HEROES 

I    IKE  to  sweet  perfume,  that  on  all  the  air 
-*     Is   blown   on   every  breeze,    and   greets   the 

sense 

Of  every  passer,  without  recompense, 
While    yet    the    flowers    are    hid,    none    knoweth 

where, — 
Though   right    well    knowing    they   are   fresh    and 

rare, — 

Because  some  high  wall  doth  their  beauty  fence 
From  off  the  world's  highway,  in  thickets  dense, 
That  seek  to  cover  what  the  winds  declare, — 
So  is  the  atmosphere  we  breathe  to-day, 
Of  liberty  and  goodness,  filled  with  life 

For  common  lungs  to  drink, —  they  know  not 

why,— 

Because  of  unknown  heroes,  who  alway, 
Although  unseen,  stand  firm  in  noble  strife, 
And  know,  for  truth,  both  how  to  live  and  die. 


DECORATING  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES 

A  SILENT  bivouac  of  the  dead,  we  say, 

\Yhile  on  the  low  green  tents  we  lay  our  flowers, 
And  with  soft  tread  we  take  our  reverent  way 
Past  where  each  seems  to  sleep  away  the  hours. 

A  silent  bivouac  ?     Nay,  they  sleep  not  here : 

They  have  passed  on  ;  and,  gleaming  bright  ahead, 

Their  camp-fires  on  yon  heights  of  truth  appear, 
Lighting  the  way  that  coming  feet  shall  tread. 

Their  shot-torn  flags  still  wave  upon  the  air, 
There  where  some  new  heroic  deed  is  done  ; 

And,  echoing  loud,  their  shout  still  ringeth  where 
Some  new  field  waits,  by  brave  hearts  to  be  won. 

The  brave  die  never,  though  they  sleep  in  dust : 
Their  courage  nerves  a  thousand  living  men, 

Who  seize  and  carry  on  the  sacred  trust, 
And  win  their  noble  victories  o'er  again. 

Their  graves  are  cradles  of  the  purpose  high 
That  led  them  on  the  weary  march,  and  through 

The  battles  where  the  dying  do  not  die, 
But  live  forever  in  the  deeds  they  do. 


THE  TWO  CONFLICTS:    1864  57 

And  from  these  cradles  rise  the  coming  years, — 
The  dead  souls  resurrected, —  still  to  keep 

The  memory  of  those  times  of  blood  and  tears, 
And  carry  on  the  work  of  those  who  sleep. 

And  thus  the  silent  bivouac  of  the  dead 

Finds  voice,  and  thrills  with  throbbing  life  to-day; 

And  \ve,  who  softly  by  their  green  tents  tread, 
Will  hear  and  heed  the  noble  words  thev  say. 


THE  TWO  CONFLICTS:  1864 

XT  OT  only  those  who've  given  their  homes  for 
*  ^  camps  ; 

Who  stand  the  lonely  guard  through  weary  nights ; 
Who  boldly  dare  disease  in  noisome  damps, 

That  o'er  their  graves  may  flourish  human  rights  ; 

Not  those  alone  who  bear  our  war-torn  flag 

Through  dead-strewn  trenches,  deep  with  bloody 
mire, 

Or  toil  on  marches,  where  the  stoutest  lag, 

With  souls  that  stay  not,  though  the  body  tire, — 


58  LIFE 

Not  these  alone  our  heroes  :  there  are  those, 
Not  forward  in  the  front  of  fierce  affray, 

Where  bayonets  to  bayonets  oppose 

The  naked  horrors  of  Death's  carnage  clay ; 

But,  though  Fame  trumpet  not  their  valorous  deeds, 
They  fight  as  hard-won  battles  as  the  best ; 

There  is  no  shout  of  onset ;  no  one  heeds 
This  silent  conflict  in  the  humble  breast. 

Weeping  and  waiting,  tender  hearts  to-day 
Taste  all  the  bitterness  of  lonely  woe. 

When  Freedom  leads  for  country,  who  shall  say 
Whether  is  harder,  or  to  stay  or  go  ? 

Not  all  the  martyrs  are  of  camp  and  field  : 
Home  knows  as  noble  deeds  of  sacrifice 

As  War's  red  tomes  of  bloody  records  yield. 
From  the  pure  altar  of  the  heart  may  rise, 

Better  than  smoke  from  e'en  Right's  reeking  sword, 
The  smoke  of  hopes  that  Duty  offers  up, 

While  the  libation  of  her  life  is  poured, 
And  stricken  hands  hold  but  an  empty  cup. 

'Tis  often  harder  far  to  bear  than  fight  : 

'Tis  hard  to  crush  down  feelings  that  will  press 

Hot  tears  from  eyes  blind  with  grief's  sudden  night, 
To  cloak  the  anguished  heart  with  cheerfulness. 


THE  TWO  CONFLICTS:    1864  59 

Battles  are  fought  by  firesides,  where  grim  want 
Is  braved  and  bearded  by  weak  woman's  hand, 

That  sons  and  husbands,  fired  by  traitor  taunt, 
May  hurl  fell  treason  from  a  rescued  land. 

The  double  fight  is  waging;  and  to  Him 
Who  seeth  all  things  with  an  equal  eye  — 

Though   one   nor   death-smoke    nor  the  dust-cloud 

dim  — 
Who'll  say  which  turns  a  nation's  destiny  ? 

All  honor  to  the  brave  who  fight  or  fall ! 

Their  work  shall  live,  their  names  shall  perish  not. 
Greet  the  returned ;  strew  flowers  on  death's  sad 
pall; 

But  let  not  our  home  army  be  forgot. 


60  LIFE 


LONELINESS  OF  TRUTH-SEEKING 

»"~pWAS  ever  so,  that  he  who  dared 
-*-       To  sail  upon  a  sea  unknown 

Must  go  upon  a  voyage  unshared, 
And  brave  its  perils  all  alone. 

He  who  from  Palos,  toward  the  west, 
Sought  for  a  new  world  o'er  the  sea, 

Sailed  forth  distrusted  and  unblest, 
While  e'en  his  ship  hatched  mutiny. 

And  he  who,  not  content  to  sit 

And  dream  of  far-off  shores  of  truth, 

Watching  the  sea-bird  fancies  flit 

And  wavelets  creep  through  all  his  youth, 

Must  sail  unblest  of  those  behind, 

And  bear  e'en  love's  reproaching  tone  : 

Only  the  guiding  God  is  kind 
To  him  who  dares  to  sail  alone. 


IN  BUD  6 1 


IN  BUD 

I  HOLD  in  my  hand  an  oak  as  great 
As  storm  ever  wrenched  at  or  chopper  fell ; 
Gnarled  trunk,  wide  bough,  and  leafy  freight 
All  closely  packed  in  an  acorn-shell. 

My  fingers  clasp  a  harvest  sheaf, 

With  heavy  gold  head  and  twisted  zone  ; 

In  these  kernels  bare  I  see  the  leaf 

And  bending  stalks  of  grain  full  grown. 

I  look  out  where  the  drifted  snow 

Lies  cold  and  glist'ning  'neath  the  moon, 

And  know  there  sleeps,  the  crust  below, 
The  blossom-browed,  green-slippered  June. 

In  yon  dry  pear-branch,  stiff  and  cold, 

A  bud  lies  hid  away  from  sight, 
That  'neath  the  Spring's  kiss  shall  unfold 

Dawn-tinted  blossoms,  streaked  with  light. 

The  boughs  that  writhe  in  the  sighing  storm, 
'Neath  frowning  skies  and  pelting  sleet, 

Shall  droop  with  sunny  burdens  warm, 
When  long  days  with  soft  breezes  meet. 


62  LIFE 

I  hold  a  home  upon  my  knee, — 
A  laughing  child  with  sunny  eyes : 

She  grows  a  maiden  fair  to  see  ; 
And  then  a  chastened  matron  wise. 

A  prince  goes  limping  past  my  door, 
But  find  him  no  keen  critic  can  ; 

The  neighbors  call  him  old  and  poor ; 
But  he's  God's  courtier,  rough  old  man. 

From  out  a  life  of  work  and  care, 
Of  crosses  heavy  and  burdens  sore, 

A  soul  may  bloom  to  beauty  rare 
That  shall  not  fade  forevermore. 


FATHER:  1864  63 


FATHER:  1864 

T  T  E  sits  by  the  table,  leaning 
-*•  -*•      His  head  on  his  weary  hand 
His  eye  has  that  gaze  of  meaning 
That  looks  on  a  far-off  land. 

Brown  locks  with  threads  of  silver, 
A  wrinkled  brow  of  care, 

A  worn-out,  age-bowed  figure, 
He  sits  in  his  old  arm-chair. 

In  his  toil-hard  hand  a  letter 
He  held,  and  seemed  to  see  ; 

But  he  saw  not  what  he  looked  at, 
As  he  nodded  musingly. 

For,  as  he  gazed,  a  picture 
Of  the  years  to  come  passed  by ; 

And  the  white  envelope  faded 
From  his  future-reading  eye. 

But  the  letter  and  its  meaning 
Had  conjured  up  his  dream  : 
He  saw  a  joyous  wedding 
•   Flit  past  with  shadowy  gleam. 


64  LIFE 

But  close  behind  the  pageant 
A  cloud  came,  murk  and  dim, 

Till,  shutting  out  the  sunlight, 
It  settled  over  him. 

With  darker  edges  brooding, 
It  closed  around  the  home, 

Where  never  more  the  children 
At  restful  evening  come. 

Two  will  return,  no,  never ! 

His  listening  ear  no  more 
Shall  hear  their  echoing  footfall 

Sound  through  the  open  door. 

And  now  the  others  leave  him, 
While  turns  his  hair  to  gray, 

And  near  the  long  hill's  bottom 
He  takes  his  lonely  way. 

Roused  now,  through  rooms  forsaken 
He  walks  with  heavy  sighs  ; 

And,  looking  at  the  letter, 
The  tears  are  in  his  eyes. 

He  feels  his  dream  a  true  one  • 
His  last  boy's  wedding-day 

Is  settled  by  the  promise 
This  letter  bears  away. 


A   FANCY  65 


A  FANCY 

T    THOUGHT  I  was  alone  in  some  deep  wood 
•*•      Where  matted  branches,  tangled  o'er  my  head, 

Shut  out  the  day ;  and  endless  Night  instead. 
With  wide,  black  wings,  did  ever  o'er  me  brood 
With  her  perpetual  shadow.     And  a  flood, 
As  if  the  hanging  heavens  were  rent  and  bled, 
Deep  as  sad  Acheron,  river  of  the  dead, 
Rushed  by  forever  in  a  voiceless  mood. 

No  sound  e'er  broke  the  stillness  deep,  unless 
Some  spirit  lost  awoke,  and  with  his  scream 

Startled  an  echo,  drearier,  more  lone 
Than  when  dead  silence  held  the  wilderness. 
Here  did  I  dwell  as  in  a  waking  dream 
Until  the  years  had  into  ages  grown. 


66  LIFE 


GOD  MADE  OUR  LIVES  TO  BE  A  SONG 

OD  made  our  lives  to  be  a  song 

Sweet  as  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
That  still  their  harmonies  prolong 
For  him  who  rightly  hears. 

The  heavens  and  the  earth  do  play 

Upon  us,  if  we  be  in  tune  : 
Winter  shouts  hoarse  his  roundelay, 

And  tender  sweet  pipes  June. 

But  oftentimes  the  songs  are  pain, 
And  discord  mars  our  harmonies  : 

Our  strings  are  snapped  by  selfish  strain, 
And  harsh  hands  break  our  keys. 

But  God  meant  music  ;  and  we  may, 
If  we  will  keep  our  lives  in  tune, 

Hear  the  whole  year  sing  roundelay, 
December  answering  June. 

God  ever  at  his  keyboard  plays, — 

Harmonics,  right  ;  and  discords,  wron^; : 

"  He  that  hath  ears,"  and  who  obeys, 
May  hear  the  mystic  song. 


ONE   LAW  67 


ONE  LAW 

me  to  this  mountain ! "  cries  the  priest. 
^-x  "  Here  God  abides;  and  this  is  his  High  Place. 
None  from  this  sacred  duty  is  released  ; 

No  other  way  canst  thou  gain  heavenly  grace. 

"  Here  is  God's  altar ;  here  doth  incense  rise ; 

Here  prayers  avail  to  turn  away  his  wrath. 
In  vain  thou  seekest  what  proud  worldlings  prize  : 

This  way  is  heaven  ;  there  is  no  other  path." 

'•Vain  are  all  churches  !  "  cries  the  moralist ; 

"  Thy  prayers  and  incense  fade  in  empty  skies. 
Religions  are  but  phantoms  of  the  mist, 

That  morning  scatters  when  the  sun  doth  rise. 

"  Thy  duty  is  on  earth.     Seek  thou  and  find 
The  laws  that  bind  thee  to  thy  fellow-men. 

The  Eden-dreams  of  early  humankind 

Thou  mayst  make  facts  in  earthly  cities  then." 

Thus  through  the  world's  long  ages 
The  battle-cries  have  sounded, 

How  lived  and  wrote  the  sages, 
How  sophists  truth  confounded. 


68  LIFE 

Here  priests  their  worship  chanted  ; 

Here  hermits  prayed  and  fasted ; 
Here  some  brave  man,  undaunted, 

Did  deeds  that  still  have  lasted. 
Till  now  the  world  has  waited, 

With  longing  and  strong  crying, 
Until  the  separated 

Should  find  their  unifying. 
For  He  must  be  one  power 

Who  rules  both  earth  and  heaven ; 
And  one  law  to  the  lower 

And  to  the  high  is  given. 
There  rings  down  from  the  highest, 

And  up  from  earth's  deep  places, 
One  voice  that  back  repliest 

To  the  asking  of  all  races  :  — 

"Hear  me,  O  jarring  peoples  !  T  am  one, 
In  deep  abysses  or  in  heavens  high  : 

One  law  swings  the  long  circuit  of  the  sun, 
And  by  one  law  the  new-fledged  bircllings  I1'. 

"  Religion  binds  thec  to  my  law  divine, 
And  this  law  binds  thee  to  thy  fellow-m;in. 

'  Trs  one  law  in  the  market,  at  the  shrine  : 

Earth,  heaven, —  see!  they1  re  built  upon  one  plan. 


NONE   LIVETH   TO   HIMSELF  69 


NONE  LIVETH  TO  HIMSELF 

Y  not,  "It  matters  not  to  me  : 
My  brother's  weal  is  his  behoof  !  " 
For,  in  this  wondrous  human  web, 

If  your  life's  warp,  his  life  is  woof. 
Woven  all  together  are  the  threads, 
And  you  and  he  are  in  one  loom  : 
For  good  or  ill,  for  glad  or  sad, 

Your  lives  must  share  one  common  doom. 

Then  let  the  daily  shuttle  glide, 

Wound  full  with  threads  of  kindly  care, 
That  life's  increasing  length  may  be 

Not  only  strongly  wrought,  but  fair. 
So,  from  the  stuff  of  each  new  day, 

The  loving  hand  of  Time  shall  make 
Garments  of  joy  and  peace  for  all ; 

And  human  hearts  shall  cease  to  ache. 


70  LIFE 


THE  SHADOW 

T  N  a  bleak  land  and  desolate, 
•*•      Beyond  the  earth  somewhere, 
Went  wandering  through  death's  dark  gate 
A  soul  into  the  air. 

And  still,  as  on  and  on  it  fled, 

A  wild,  waste  region  through, 
Behind  there  fell  the  steady  tread 

Of  one  that  did  pursue. 

At  last  he  paused,  and  looked  aback  ; 

And  then  he  was  aware 
A  hideous  wretch  stood  in  his  track, 

Deformed,  and  cowering  there. 

"  And  who  art  thou,"  he  shrieked  in  fright, 

"  That  dost  my  steps  pursue  ? 
Go,  hide  thy  shapeless  shape  from  sight, 

Nor  thus  pollute  my  view  !  " 

The  foul  form  answered  him  :  "  Alway 

Along  thy  path  I  flee. 
Pm  thine  own  actions.     Night  and  day 

Still  must  I  follow  thee!  " 


ON    A   POETESS   PUBLISHING   I. ATE   IN    LIFE 


ON  A  POETESS  PUBLISHING  LATE  IN 
LIFE 

TV  TOST   birds   sing   in    the    morning.      Freshest 
*•**•      flowers 

Are  piled  in  the  lap  of  May  or  summer  June  ; 

But  thou,  sweet  warbler,  in  the  afternoon 
Hast  waked  a  song  amid  the  silent  bowers 
That  long  shall  echo.     Never  Dryad  powers 

Bound  on  the  brows  of  spring  a  wreath  so  fair 

As  that  thou  weavest  in  the  fading  hair 
Of  autumn.     Thou  art  songstress  of  the  hours 

When  we  would  talk  with  nature,  and  would  hear 
The  whispers  that  the  world's  loud  voices  drown. 

Let  this  not  be  thy  last  sweet  song ;  for  then 
The  skies  would  weep  with  rain  ;  in  silence  drear, 
The  birds  would  wait  a  song  that  hushed  their  own  ; 
And  sing  no  more  until  it  came  again. 


72  LIFE 


PURSUIT 

IV  yT  Y  boyhood  chased  the  butterfly, 
*•*•*•     Or,  when  the  shower  was  gone, 
Sought  treasures  at  the  rainbow's  end, 

That  lured  me,  wandering  on. 
I  caught  nor  bow  nor  butterfly, 

Though  eagerly  I  ran  ; 
But  in  the  chase  I  found  myself, 

And  grew  to  be  a  man. 

In  later  years  I've  chased  the  good, 

The  beautiful,  and  true  : 
Mirage-like  forms  which  take  not  shape, 

They  flit  as  I  pursue. 
But,  while  the  endless  chase  I  run, 

I  grow  in  life  divine  : 
I  miss  the  ideals  that  I  seek, 

But  God  himself  is  mine. 


YOUNG  AND  OLD  73 


YOUNG  AND  OLD 

T  T  E  sits  and  dreams  a  brave  dream  of  To  Be : 
-*-  •*•     And,  while  he  dreams,  hopes  are  realities, 

And  the  fresh  glory  of  the  eastern  skies 
Holds  not  a  cloud  that  his  glad  eye  can  see. 
While,  in  his  gorgeous  vision,  fame  and  gold 

And  love,  and  houses  in  broad  acres,  where 

Is  all  can  make  life  glorious  and  fair 
To  him,  whose  days  are  young,  its  meanings  not  yet 
told. 

He  sits  with  backward  look  at  what  has  been ; 

But  little  of  his  dreams,  for  they  are  fled. 

The  winds  sigh  over  withered  hopes,  now  dead, 
Like  fallen  leaves  that  in  the  spring  were  green. 
The  fame  and  gold, —  oh,  yes,  he  has  them  now, 

And  houses  and  broad  acres  ;  but  all  this, 

How  gladly  would  he  give  them  for  one  kiss, 
Could  lips,  now  cold,  but  press  it  on  his  brow! 


74  LIFK 


THE  COMING  SHIP 

f  KNOW  it  is  coming,  my  absent  ship, 
-*-     Out  somewhere  over  the  seas  unknown, 
Though  it  wander  afar  where  the  oceans  dip 
Below  the  round  world's  edge  sloping  down. 

I  have  never  seen  it  except  in  dreams, 

Or,  like  a  mirage,  in  the  misty  air; 
And  yet  it  is  coming,  and  often  it  seems 

To  be  rounding  the  point  over  there. 

It  is  loaded  down  to  the  water's  edge 
With  all  that  the  heart  of  man  desires, — 

Rich  robes  and  fine  gold  in  many  a  wedge, 
And  jewels  that  flash  with  their  hidden  fires. 

It  is  freighted  with  all  I  have  ever  sought : 
With  the  hopes  that  eluded  my  eager  hand  , 

The  deeds  I  have  dreamed,  but  never  wrought ; 
The  perfect  poems  my  thought  has  planned. 

And  there  on  the  deck,  looking  out  o'er  the  main, 
Are  the  forms  of  the  lost  ones  who  went  away . 

I  wait  on  the  cliffs  till  I  see  them  again, 
And  count  all  the  days  of  my  weary  delay. 


THE   COMING   SHIP  75 

And  sometimes  I  fear  they  will  never  come  back ; 

For,  when  the  wind  rises  and  all  the  waves  roar, 
I  fancy  them  driven  in  pitiless  wrack, 

And  torn  on  the  rocks  of  some  desolate  shore. 

But,  when  the  storm  lulls,  I  see  it  anew, 
Each  spar  standing  out  against  a  clear  sky, 

Her  prow  pointing  homeward,  her  compass  still  true, 
And  cleaving  the  waves  as  she  tosses  them  by. 

And  so  I  wait  on,  day  in  and  day  out, 

Till  I  look  on  my  home-coming,  beautiful  barge, 

Gold-rigged  in  the  sun,  with  song  and  with  shout, 
Glide  up  with  wide  wings  to  the  sandy  marge. 


76  LIFE 


IN  COMMON  THINGS 

EEK  not  afar  for  beauty.     Lo  !  it  glows 
In  dew-wet  grasses  all  about  thy  feet ; 
In  birds,  in  sunshine,  childish  faces  sweet, 
In  stars,  and  mountain  summits  topped  with  snows. 

'Go  not  abroad  for  happiness.     For  see  ! 
It  is  a  flower  that  blossoms  by  thy  door. 
Bring  love  and  justice  home;  and  then,  no  more, 
Thou'lt  wonder  in  what  dwelling  joy  may  be. 

Dream  not  of  noble  service  elsewhere  wrought : 
The  simple  duty  that  awaits  thy  hand 
Is  God's  voice  uttering  a  divine  command  ; 

Life's  common  deeds  build  all  that  saints  have  thought. 

In  wonder-workings,  or  some  bush  aflame, 
Men  look  for  God,  and  fancy  him  concealed. 
But  in  earth's  common  things  he  stands  revealed  ; 

While  grass  and  flowers  and  stars  spell  out  his  name. 

The  paradise  men  seek,  the  city  bright 

That  gleams  beyond  the  stars  for  longing  eyes, 
Is  only  human  goodness  in  the  skies. 

Earth's  deeds,  well  done,  glow  into  heavenly  light. 


TO   F.  J.  S.  77 


TO  F.  J.  S. 

THE  flowers  you  sent  were  very  fair, 
The  spring's  breath  made  their  perfume  sweet : 
But  with  them  came  a  gift  more  rare 
Than  any  that  the  senses  greet. 

You  thought  you  only  put  in  flowers ; 

But  you  gave  more  than  box  could  hold, — 
Cheer  for  the  ofttimes  weary  hours, 

And  sympathy  more  rare  than  gold. 

I  speak  my  heart  out  in  the  crowd, 

Seeking  to  utter  Truth's  sweet  will ; 
But  oft  the  words  seem  lost,  as  loud 

Swells  the  world's  Babel-jargon  still. 

But  when  a  voice  comes  back  to  me, — 
"  One  listened  and  was  helped," —  I  say, 

"  God  did  speak  through  me  then ;  and  he 
Has  not  cast  all  my  work  away." 


78  LIFE 

GERTRUDE.     1868 

(Born  Grass  Valley,  Col.,  Aug.  15,  1866) 

T  T  was  on  an  August  morning, 

And  the  index  pointed  seven, 
When,  the  bare,  gray  sky  adorning, 
Rose  the  red  sun  up  the  heaven, — 
Rose  up  o'er  the  wooded  mountains, 
Glowing,  through  the  dark  pine  branches, 
On  the  streamlets  and  the  rills 
Wandering  from  their  limpid  fountains, 
Soiled  by  man's  use,  till  the  hills 
Had  hardly  known  them  at  the  mills, 
Or  as  they  gurgled  o'er  the  ranches. 

All  the  birds  knew  it  was  song-time, 
And  their  little  throats  this  long  time, 
With  no  single  note  of  sadness, 
Had  been  quivering  with  gladness. 

All  the  trees  knew  it  was  dawning ; 
And,  beneath  their  sky-wide  awning, 
Every  one  among  their  number 
Stood  up  fresh  and  glad  from  slumber. 


GERTRUDE  79 

Lavish  summer  in  the  vales  ! 

Lavish  summer  on  the  hills  ! 

Yet  the  cool  air  whispered  tales 

Of  snow-topped  peaks  and  snow-fed  rills. 

California's  balm  was  round  us ; 

Wild  Sierra's  foothills  bound  us. 

In  the  cottage  vine-embowered, 

In  the  cottage  fruit-tree  hidden, 

Came  the  morning,  weary-houred, 

Long  requested,  long  forbidden. 

Then  it  was  when  that  high  Heaven, 

Which  to  us  our  love  had  given, 

Which  through  years,  through  any  weather, 

Our  blind  hearts  had  drawn  together, 

Sent  from  out  the  blue  a  spirit, 

Our  two  lives  and  .love  t'  inherit. 

Fairer  to  us  than  an  angel 
Came  she  with  her  new  evangel ; 
Opening  to  our  comprehension 
Love  beyond  all  former  mention  ; 
Making  holier  what  was  holy, 
Dignifying  what  was  lowly  ; 
Teaching  us,  with  sweet  revealing, 
What  might  be  creative  feeling; 
Thus  that  higher  love  explaining, 
Ever  hard  to  man's  attaining. 


8o 


Eyes  has  she  that  ripple  laughter, 
Her  own  mother's  copied  after  ; 
Brown  and  deep  and  full  of  dreaming 
When  in  silent  thought  she's  seeming. 
She  has  curling  hair  that's  flaxen, 
Dimpled  face  all  round  and  waxen, 
Only  with  no  lifeless  whiteness, — 
Like  a  lily  in  its  lightness; 
Whiter  that  blue  veins  look  through  it, 
And  the  red  blood  rushes  to  it. 

Cupid's  bow  her  lips  informed, 

Made  red  with  throbbing  life  heart-warmed. 

And  their  soft  prattle's  senseless  words 

Are  cheerier  than  brooks  or  birds. 

And,  then,  the  patter  of  her  feet, — 

Earth  has  no  music  half  so  sweet ! 

How  desolate  my  study  door, 

If  they  came  tottering  there  no  more ! 

Through  one  year  and  half  a  second 
Life  thy  trusting  feet  has  beckoned. 
Each  new  day  some  deeper  seeming 
Flits  across  thy  face  like  dreaming ; 
And  thy  prattle  grows  to  talking, 
As  thy  totter  does  to  walking. 
Ever  some  new  trick  or  notion 
Keeps  thy  little  life  all  motion, — 


GERTRUDE  8 1 

Testing  new-discovered  powers, 
Presents  of  the  passing  hours. 
All  our  big  hearts  thou  art  moving 
With  thy  small,  fond  ways  of  loving, 
Till  we  clasp  thee  with  emotions, 
So  surpassing  all  the  notions 
Of  thy  little  head  so  wise, 
Thou  starest  at  us  in  surprise. 
Then,  we  look  on  through  the  years, 
Bright  with  smiles  or  dim  with  tears, 
Wondering  if  those  years  are  bringing 
Gifts  of  sighing  or  of  singing. 

But  our  serious  meditation 

Soon  gives  way  to  consternation  ; 

For,  while  far  our  thoughts  are  straying, 

Thou  some  new-found  prank  art  playing. 

Clutching  at  the  table-cover, 

All  the  glass  goes  toppling  over; 

And,  as  fly  the  scattered  pieces. 

Thy  triumphant  crow  increases  : 

Clap  thy  little  hands,  and  after 

All  the  ruin  goes  thy  laughter. 

Baby,  wilt  thou  hearts  be  breaking 

In  the  after  years,  and  making 

Thy  then  new-found  power  to  blight 

Theme  for  triumph  and  delight  ? 


82  LIFE 

What  thy  future  is  to  be 

We  may  not,  and  we  would  not,  see. 

Born  within  the  Golden  State, 

Thou,  out  through  the  Golden  Gate, 

Through  the  Indian  summer  drifting 

Toward  the  southern  sun-lands,  lifting, 

(As  in  vision  beatific,) 

O'er  the  glassy-smooth  Pacific, 

Mountain  vast  or  palm-tree  vale, 

Didst  thy  first  life-voyage  sail. 

So,  as  thy  first  voyage  begun, 
Sail  thou  on  toward  the  sun  ! 
Gentlest  breezes,  round  thee  blowing, 
Speed  thee  to  some  fair  clime  going ! 
Clouds  and  storms  affright  thee  never, 
But  blue  skies  be  o'er  thee  ever ! 
Till,  when  all  the  sea  is  past, 
Some  fair  port  thou  make  at  last ! 


I 


ST.    CHRISTOFER  83 


ST.  CHRISTOFER 

N  the  Monkish  legends  hoary 
Is  there  many  a  wondrous  story 
Of  the  saints  of  elder  time. 


In  some  still  hour  of  reflection 
Come  they  like  a  recollection 

Of  some  half-forgotten  rhyme. 

Though  by  wiser  times  forbidden 
Sober  credence,  in  them  hidden 
Many  a  noble  lesson  lies. 

One  of  these  my  mind  has  haunted, 
And  my  thoughts,  unbidden,  chanted 
While  half-slumber  held  my  eyes. 

In  the  days  long  since  departed 
Lived  a  giant,  noble-hearted, 

Who  "  The  Greatest "  king  did  seek. 

Noticed  he  one  day  how  faster 
Came  the  breath  of  his  proud  master, 
And  the  color  left  his  cheek, 


LIFE 

When  the  Devil's  name  was  spoken. 
Knew  he  then  by  this  dread  token 
There  was  one  his  King  did  fear. 

Sought  he  then  until  he  found  him, 
And  to  his  dread  service  bound  him, 
Following  him  for  many  a  year. 

One  day,  in  the  stormy  weather, 
Marched  they  o'er  the  blackened  heather, 
When  the  infernal  host  aside 

Sudden  turned,  confused  and  flurried, 
And  their  trembling  ranks  they  hurried 
On  a  ddtour  far  and  wide. 

Then,  the  giant  stood  and  pondered 
On  his  great  King's  fear,  and  wondered 
Much  when  he  the  reason  guessed. 

Standing  where  the  highways  parted, 
'Twas  a  cross  at  which  they  started, 
And  a  greater  King  confessed. 

Then,  the  wide  world  over,  seeking 
This  new  Lord,  he  wandered,  speaking 
To  each  traveller  lie  met. 


ST.    CHRISTOFER  85 

Till  one  evening,  dark  and  dreary, 
To  a  hermit's  hut,  all  weary, 

Came  he  when  the  sun  was  set. 

Him  he  questioned  :  "Woe  betide  me  ! 
Vainly  seek  I  one  to  guide  me 

To  the  Christ  King's  palace  high. 

"  For  I  seek  to  serve  the  greatest ; 
And  the  king  I  followed  latest 

Feared  to  pass  his  standard  by." 

Answered  then  the  hermit  hoary : 
"  He  thou  seekest  reigns  in  glory 

Far  beyond  those  stars  of  night. 

t 

"  But  they  serve  him  best  who  meekly 
Bear  the  burden  of  the  weakly, 

Fight  the  wrong,  and  help  the  right. 

"  Would  you  win  and  wear  his  guerdon, 
Bend  your  strength  beneath  the  burden 
Which  the  Christ's  poor  crushes  down. 

"  From  his  throne  in  heaven  bending, 
He  will  watch  you,  and,  descending, 
One  day  will  your  labor  crown." 


86  LIFE 

Sought  he  then  some  service  holy, 
Where  he  might  assist  the  lowly, 
And  for  timid  ones  be  bold. 

All  his  strength  he  consecrated 
To  the  work,  and  thus  he  waited 
For  the  day  the  hermit  told. 

By  a  rapid,  bridgeless  river, 
Treacherous-bottomed,  rushing  ever 

'Cross  the  pilgrims'  Rome  ward  way, 

Massive-shouldered,  danger-scorning, 
On  the  shore  sat  night  and  morning 
Strong  Oferos  day  by  day. 

On  a  piteous  night  and  dreary, 
When  the  wind  seemed  never  weary 
Chasing  the  storm-driven  cloud, 

In  a  lull,  above  the  sighing 
Of  the  chafing  tree-boughs,  crying 
Rose  a  child-voice,  wailing  loud ; 

Begged  him,  for  Christ's  love,  a  stranger 
To  befriend,  and  through  the  danger 
Bear  him  'cross  the  turbid  flood. 


ST.    CHRISTOFER  87 

Rose  he  then  where  he  was  sleeping, 
When  he  heard  the  child-voice  weeping, 
Peering  through  the  dripping  wood. 

For,  thought  he,  "  My  vow  is  taken, 
If  I  sleep  or  if  I  waken, 

Ne'er  to  let  one  ask  in  vain." 

Though  the  storm  and  night  were  blinding, 
Sought  he  then  the  child,  and,  finding, 
Gently  soothed  his  grief  and  pain. 

Danger  only  made  him  bolder  ; 
While  the  child  upon  his  shoulder 

Scarce  a  feather's  weight  did  seem. 

His  strong  staff  in  one  hand  grasping, 
Closer  still  the  fair  child  clasping, 
Strode  he  down  into  the  stream. 

Then,  the  night  grew  darker,  moaning 
For  the  lost  stars,  while  the  groaning 
Tree-tops  wrestled  with  the  blast. 

And,  when  in  the  middle  river, 
Thought  Oferos  he  had  never 

Through  such  raging  current  passed. 


LIFE 

Then, —  a  miracle,  a  wonder  ! 
Scarcely  could  he  stagger  under 

The  strange  weight  that  now  he  bore. 

Heavier  grew  the  child,  still  crushing 
Down  his  giant  strength,  while  rushing 
Wilder  yet  the  waters  roar. 

Wondering  much  the  child  concerning, 
But  unfaltering,  never  turning, 

Straight  he  crossed  the  angry  ford. 

When,  behold,  no  child  forsaken, 
But  he  sees,  as  one  new  waken, 

Stand  before  him  Christ  the  Lord. 

Round  his  head  a  radiance  bright'ning 
Lit  the  dark  and  paled  the  lightning, 
While  the  abashed  storm  fled  away. 

Then,  the  radiant  east  adorning, 
Laughed  through  rainy  tears  the  morning, 
And  uprose  the  gladsome  day. 

Hushed  was  all  the  air  and  holy, 
While  the  giant,  bending  lowly, 

Knelt  before  his  great  King's  feet. 


ST.    CHRISTOFER  89 

Gently  spake  He  :  "  Blest  forever 
Be  thy  deeds  and  thine  endeavor, — 
Both  for  holy  sainthood  meet ! 

"  Thou  Oferos,  mighty  bearer, 
Hast  been  called :  henceforth,  a  fairer, 
Grander  title  thine  shall  be. 

"Christoferos,  down  the  ages, 
Men  shall  call  thee,  while  there  rages 
Storm  in  sky  or  flood  to  sea  ; 

"  For  the  Christ-child  thou  hast  carried, 
While  the  torrent  never  tarried, 
And  the  storm  was  in  the  sky. 

"  Plant  thy  staff  for  sign,  and  growing 
It  shall  be  a  tree,  while  flowing, 

Like  the  years,  the  stream  goes  by. 

"  For  heaven  knows  no  higher  beauty 
Than  the  doing  one's  plain  duty 
For  the  love  of  man  alone. 

"  And  '  The  Greatest '  thou  art  serving 
When  thou  seekest,  all  unswerving, 

Each  man's  welfare  as  thine  own." 


LIFE 


As  the  years  went  by,  and  ever 
Rushed  adown  the  turbid  river, 

Watched  the  old  saint  on  the  shore  ; 

Learning  that  the  lordliest  doing 
Is  in  day  by  day  pursuing 

One's  next  duty  evermore. 


LOVE 


DANTE'S  PRAISE  OF  BEATRICE 

SUCH  gentle  awe  is  in  her  winsome  ways 
That,  when  she  greeteth  others  on  the  street, 
The  glibbest  tongue  in  silence  long  delays, 
Nor  dare  bold  eyes  her  star-like  gaze  to  meet. 

Though  praises  follow  her  where'er  she  goes, 
Yet  with  humility  she's  ever  dressed  : 

She  seems  from  heaven  come,  so  to  disclose 
The  gracious  bearing  of  the  immortal  blest. 

To  gaze  upon  her  beauty  is  to  know 
The  purest  sentiment  of  reverent  love  ; 

While  he  to  whom  some  favor  she  doth  show 
May  taste  before  the  joys  of  heaven  above. 

Upon  her  curved  and  gracious  lips  there  dwells 
Soft  utterance  that  speaketh  of  the  sky  ; 

And  in  her  eye  a  sweetness  that  compels 
The  heart  to  breathe  its  life  out  in  a  sigh. 


92  LOVE 


A  Picture 

"D  IVER,  flowing  through  the  past, 
••^     Seeming,  to  my  childish  eye, 
Cutting  through  the  mountains  vast 
Thy  bright  pathway  from  the  sky  ; 

River,  flowing  through  my  youth, 

Glassing  in  thy  sunny  tide 
Forms  whose  memory  mocks  the  truth 

That  'twas  years  ago  they  died ; 

River,  flowing  in  the  sun, 
Ere  as  yet,  far  down  thy  way, 

Vexing  mills  and  laden  ships 
Give  thee  toil  instead  of  play ; 

River,  'tis  a  picture  fair 

Of  an  evening  hour  I  see  :  — 

Rings  the  village  church  bell  there, 
While  we  float  all  silently 

In  our  dory, —  she  and  I, — 

Float  through  twilight  toward  the  town, 
'Neath  the  bridge's  arches  high, 

While  the  first  faint  stars  look  down. 


DISENCHANTED  93 


O'er  the  boat's  side  as  we  lean, 
In  the  watery  mirror  clear 

She  looks  up  as  I  look  down, 
And  her  eye-lash  holds  a  tear. 

Jewelled  answer  to  my  quest ! 

Lives  forever  that  fair  dream  ; 
For  I  caught  her  to  my  breast, 

And  the  tear  fell  in  the  stream. 


DISENCHANTED 

A  T  first  I  thought  her  like  a  star, — 
**     Too  far  above  me  and  too  bright 
Save  to  be  reverenced  from  afar, — 
A  worship,  not  a  heart's  delight. 

She  was  an  angel,  flitting  fair 
Through  ranges  of  ideal  life 

So  high  above  earth's  common  air 
I  dared  not  think  of  her  as  wife. 

She  was  a  rose  superb  that  grew, 
Shut  in  by  walls  so  thick  and  high 

No  man  its  dainty  heart  might  view  : 
It  opened  only  to  the  sky. 


94  LOVE 

But,  now,  she  sits  here  by  my  side, 
Star,,  angel,  rose  no  more  ;  but  still, 

Though  disenchanted  I,  my  bride 
Does  more  than  all  my  dreams  fulfil. 


LOVE'S  GARDEN 

"INHERE  once  was  a  garden  with  lofty  walls, 

-*•       With  trees  and  flowers  and  waters  fair. 
Bright  insects  hummed  ;  and  the  soft  love-calls 
Of  rare-hued  birds  on  the  drowsy  air 

At  morning  and  evening  were  heard.     And  here 
It  always  was  summer.     There  seemed  to  be 

A  balm  in  the  air,  and  a  sky  as  clear 
As  bends  o'er  the  lakes  of  Italy. 

It  was  in  an  enchanted  land  ;  for  not 

On  the  earth  has  a  garden  like  this  e'er  been  : 

The  dreamer  alone  has  seen  the  spot, 
Or  ever  an  entrance  to  such  might  win. 

Within  this  garden  a  woman  dwelt, 

Ringed  round  by  the  walls  as  the  years  went  by  : 
And  the  hours  as  they  passed  her  so  lovingly  dealt 

They  but  ripened  the  beauty  that  could  not  die. 


LOVE'S  GARDEN  95 

The  subtle  grace  of  the  lissome  trees 

Sways  in  her  form  and  each  perfect  limb ; 

And  the  deepest  sky  in  the  pools  she  sees 

Gleams  from  her  eye  o'er  the  long-lashed  brim. 

The  rippling  waters  and  soughing  winds 
But  echo  her  laughter  or  wistful  sighs. 

Each  day  is  happy,  except  as  she  finds 
A  wondering,  half-felt  longing  arise ;  — 

A  longing  for  what  she  knows  not.     But  he, 
Who  wanders  and  waits  outside,  dares  hope 

His  whisper  might  tell  her,  if  it  could  be 
That  some  day  the  strong-barred  gate  might  ope. 

But  high  is  the  wall,  and  the  gates  shut  fast, — 
Strong  walls  of  old  custom,  and  gates  of  law  ; 

And  his  heart  still  aches  as  the  days  go  past, 
And  no  hand  the  fastening  bolts  undraw. 


LOVE 


LETHE 


T    ET  me  the  cup  of  Lethe  drink 
*-**     As  I  to  underworlds  pass  down. 
If  I  must  live,  I  would  not  think, 
But  that  one  memory  would  drown. 


Better  than  all  if  I  might  sleep, 
And  be  no  more  in  all  the  years : 

The  cup  of  life  I  would  not  keep, 
Since  ever  it  has  brimmed  with  tears. 

But  since  that  may  not  be,  at  least 
Let  me  forget  that  dreadful  day 

When  in  my  heaven  of  hope  there  ceased 
My  one  star's  brightly  shining  ray. 

It  rose  upon  me  in  my  night 
With  such  a  joyous,  hopeful  gleam 

That,  so  it  still  continued  bright, 

I  cared  not  what  else  proved  a  dream. 


LETHE  97 

A  little  while  it  gleamed  and  shone 
And  filled  me  with  its  dear  delight : 

Then,  on  a  sudden,  it  was  gone, 
And  I  walked  on  in  rayless  night. 

A  traveller,  coming  from  afar, 
Told  me  a  tale  of  how  he'd  seen, 

Guiding  another  life,  the  star 

That  once  my  cynosure  had  been. 

My  brain  is  maddened  at  the  thought ! 

And,  since  it  is  no  longer  mine, 
Its  beauty  must  be  worse  than  naught, 

However  sweetly  it  may  shine  ! 

No  other  now  can  glad  mine  eye : 
My  heart  has  room  for  only  this. 

And  since  the  longing  may  not  die, 
And  life  holds  now  no  more  of  bliss, 

Let  me  at  least  forget ;  and  so, 
No  longer  torn  with  useless  strife, 

Let  me  through  all  the  future  go 
As  one  who  had  no  former  life  ! 


98  LOVE 


LEANDER  TO  HERO 

A  \T  HAT,  Hero,  is  this  madness  of  the  brain, 
*  '  That,  at  the  melting  of  a  woman's  eye, 
Will  count  it  even  heaven  for  love  to  die, 

And  even  grudge  the  losing  of  a  pain, 

If  through  all  toil  or  sorrow  it  may  gain 
The  flitting  smile  whose  light  is  ecstasy  ? 
'Tis  sure  this  thread,  of  all  life's  mystery, 

That  to  unravel  we  must  seek  in  vain  ! 

For  this  our  very  lives  we  fling  away ; 

And  if,  one  hour,  upon  the  favored  breast 

Our  head  caressed  may  lie,  we  care  not  then, 
In  that  Elysium,  what  the  world  may  say  ; 
Our  one  regret  that,  for  such  fevered  rest, 
We  have  not  other  lives  to  lose  again. 


TO   E. —  IN  ABSENCE  99 


TO  E.— IN  ABSENCE 

A    CLOUD  passed  over  the  sun  to-day  : 
**     It  shadowed  the  windows  of  the  town, 
And  darkened  the  fields  that  stretch  away 
To  the  edge  of  the  forest  brown. 

A  cloud  passed  over  my  life  to-day  : 

Its  gloomy  shadow  hung  wide  and  dense  ; 

It  came,  an  unbidden  guest,  to  stay, 
I  can  tell  no  one  why  nor  whence. 

O  sun  of  my  life,  my  light,  appear, 

And  scatter  the  life-darkening  clouds  above  ! 
No  shadow  can  stay  when  thy  face  is  near, 

Smiling  down  from  its  heaven  of  love. 


100  LOVE 


TO  E. 

A     TREE  thou  art,  of  foliage  fair ;  — 
**     A  palm  of  graceful  mould  ! 
No  other  clime  a  growth  so  rare 
As  this  did  ever  hold. 

A  flower  thou  art,  with  downcast  look  : 
Nay,  thou'rt  a  bud  half-blown  ! 

Sweet  dost  thou  make  thy  wayside  nook ! 
I'd  cull  thee  for  my  own. 

A  maid  art  thou  in  whom  is  all 

Rare  beauty  of  flower  or  tree. 
Thine  eyes'  deep  heaven  no  shadows  pall : 

Thy  cheeks  blush  roses  be. 

My  love  art  thou  !  on  earth,  1  ween, 

Though  sought  I  everywhere, 
No  second  were  found  to  my  heart's  queen, 

No  one  so  passing  fair. 


THE  UNIVERSE  LOST  FOR  LOVE         IOI 


THE  UNIVERSE  LOST  FOR  LOVE 

T    WOULD  not  care  for  fame, 

If,  as  the  years  went  by, 
That  light  might  burn  the  same 
That  now  flames  in  thine  eye. 
From  all  the  glory  for  which  great  ones  care 
Thou  couldst  entice  me  with  a  single  hair. 

"  I  would  not  care  for  truth, 

If  thou  wouldst  but  be  true  ; 
One  certainty, —  thy  youth, 

Thy  beauty  ever  new, — 
To  make  me  this  the  only  truth  declare, 
Thou  couldst  entice  me  with  a  single  hair. 

"  I  would  not  care  for  good, 

If  I  thy  smile  might  see. 
No  man  hath  understood 

How  mighty  love  can  be, 
Unless  he's  felt  the  power  of  one  so  fair 
She  could  entice  him  with  a  single  hair. 


102  LOVE 

"  I  would  not  care  for  heaven, 

If  I  the  years  could  stay, 
And  here  at  twenty-seven 

Hold  thee  as  mine  alway, — 
Though  stood  I  at  the  gates,  from  even  there 
Thou  couldst  entice  me  with  a  single  hair." 

O  mighty  love,  that  so 

Canst  fling  a  world  aside, 
When  thou  art  wise  to  know 

That  Truth's  the  fairest  bride, 
Thou  wilt  her  grace  the  only  grace  declare, 
And  let  her  lead  thee  by  a  single  hair. 


LOVE  IS  IMMORTALITY 

"1 17  HEN  in  thy  folding  arms  I  lie, 

*  ^       My  head  upon  thy  faithful  breast, 
I  doubt  not  immortality, 

But  know  I  am  forever  blest. 

Time  then  exists  no  more  for  me, 
Nor  measure  years  the  orbs  above : 

I'm  living  in  eternity, — 

The  deathless  bliss  of  deathless  love. 


ABELARD   TO    HELOISE  103 


ABELARD  TO  HELOISE 

^\  \T  HEN  on  your  lap  my  head  is  laid, 

*  *       And  o'er  me  droop  your  lashes  down, 
While  kiss  with  kiss  is  oft  repaid, 

And  I  look  in  your  eyes  so  brown, 
I  have  no  doubt  that  heaven  then, 
With  all  its  bliss,  was  made  for  men. 

For  heaven  dwelleth  in  the  charms 
That  hold  me  captive  by  thy  side. 

If  only  always  in  thine  arms 

With  joys  like  these  I  might  abide, 

I'd  care  not  who  above  might  go, 

I'd  choose  thy  love,  and  stay  below. 


1 04  LOVE 


A  Lover's  Fancy 

HPHAT  hand  that  any  sculptor 
-*•       Would  for  a  model  take, 
If  he  a  fingered  Juno 

Should  e'er  set  out  to  make  ; 

That  hand  whose  simplest  gesture 
Might  bend  the  hearts  of  men, 

Drive  to  despair  a  lover, 
Or  thrill  with  life  again  ; 

That  hand  that,  were  she  royal, 
Might  grandest  sceptre  hold, 

And  that  to  touch  or  kiss  it 

Were  worth  a  kingdom's  gold, — 

That  hand,  with  soft  caressing, 
Now  lies  on  pussy's  head. 

Oh,  would  that  puss  were  human, 
And  I  were  puss  instead  ! 


FATE  105 


FATE 

T  LOVED,  and  sought  the  wide  earth  o'er, 
•*•      But  only  met  a  face  of  hate. 
I  saw  ships  sailing  from  the  shore, 
While  she  I  sought  forevermore 

Looked  o'er  the  side.     I  came  too  late. 

Two  on  two  continents  apart, 

With  no  thought  of  each  other,  dwelt. 
O'er  oceans,  with  unconscious  art 
Led  on,  heart  answered  unto  heart, 
Till  at  her  happy  feet  he  knelt. 

Though  years  are  long  and  worlds  are  wide, 
Though  long  I  wait  or  wander  lone, 

The  universe  is  on  his  side 

Who,  patient,  knows  his  time  to  'bide  ; 
And  Fate  shall  give  me  yet  my  own. 


IO6  LOVE 


WILL  LOVE  DESCEND 

A    HEAVEN-BORN  goddess  is  sweet  love  : 
**•     Will  she  descend  to  common  cares, 

And  breathe  our  dusty,  earthly  airs 
In  narrow  paths,  nor  pine  to  rove  ? 

She'll  want  soft  carpets  for  her  feet ; 
She'll  want  rich  jewels  in  her  hair, 
From  out  her  windows  landscapes  rare, 

And  in  must  float  all  perfumes  sweet. 

She'd  weary  of  a  petty  round 

Of  household  tasks  that  every  day 
Fritter  and  fret  the  life  away, — 

Though  husband  worshipped,  children  crowned. 

Yes,  heart  that  thought  the  heavens  to  scale. 
And  pluck  a  star  from  her  bright  zone, 
Stars  are  too  high  to  call  thine  own  : 

Go  seek  a  rushlight  in  the  vale. 


THE   CRIME   AGAINST   LOVE  1 07 


THE  CRIME  AGAINST  LOVE 

T    OVE  was  a  judge,  and  he  held  a  court 
*-*     With  the  culprit  in  the  box. 
He  had  flung  him  into  his  jail, —  Despair, — 
Close  under  double  locks. 

The  crier  cried,  and  the  court  began. 

The  attorney  rose  and  said, 
"  The  prisoner  at  the  bar,  my  lord, 

We  charge,  as  shall  be  read.'' 

And  he  read  a  long  indictment  through, 
That  charged  contempt  of  love. 

"  He  has  spoken  slightingly  of  you, 
As  I'll  proceed  to  prove. 

"  He  has  said,  '  I'll  travel  other  lands  ; 

I'll  wed  my  books  and  lore  : 
Divine  philosophy  alone 

Shall  my  fond  heart  adore. 

" '  Love  is  the  passion  of  weak  minds  : 

I  will  not  be  its  slave. 
Love  is  a  blindness  of  the  eyes, 

And  it  is  reason's  grrave.'  " 


108  LOVE 

The  indictment  through,  the  attorney  said, 
"  My  lord, —  whom  Heaven  defend  !  — 

If  words  like  these  unpunished  go, 
Your  kingdom's  at  an  end." 

"Speak,  prisoner!"  then  the  stern  judge  cried, 

"If  you  have  aught  to  say." 
"  I  did  not  know  you,  mighty  Love  • 

I  therefore  pardon  pray, — 

"If  ignorance  may  be  excuse." 

"Then  hear  me,"  Love  replied. 
"  Go  seek  the  loveliest  one  you  know, 

And  by  her  word  abide. 

"  If  she  forgives  you,  then  will  I  : 

You  have  six  months'  release." 
And  now  he  wanders  up  and  down, 

And  nowhere  findeth  peace. 

He's  seen  the  loveliest ;  but  in  vain  ! 

He  cannot  bring  his  heart 
To  risk  the  trial,  lest  he  die 

If  she  should  say,  "  Depart !  " 


WHAT  SHALL   WE  DO  109 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO 

11  7  HAT  shall  one  do  with  a  hopeless  love  ? 

*  *       If  he  bury  it  in  his  heart, 
Too  strong  for  its  prison  it  will  prove, 
And  burst  its  walls  apart. 

If  he  bury  it  in  the  sea,  'twill  arise 
When  the  evening  love-star  gleams, 

And,  mocking  him  with  its  deathless  eyes, 
Will  haunt  him  in  his  dreams. 

If  he  bury  himself  in  his  books,  and  seek 

To  hide  him  from  its  sight, 
'Twill  laugh  at  his  Hebrew  and  his  Greek, 

And  mock  him  as  in  spite. 

If  he  do  not  seek  its  face  to  flee, 

And  yet  no  hope  is  given, 
'Twill  make  of  life  a  misery, 

And  carry  hell  to  heaven. 


no  LOVE 


THE  QUESTION 

OH,  tell  me  how  to  woo  and  win," 
The  shepherd  sang.     The  echoes  flew 
Adown  the  vale,  now  loud,  now  thin, 
And  answered  only,  "  Win  and  woo" 

"  But  I  am  not  a  shepherd  lad, 
So  tell  me,  Echo  sweet,"  said  I. 

"  How  shall  my  heart's  long  wish  be  had  ?  " 
"  Had  —  wish  you  had  !"  was  its  reply. 

"  No  common  word  can  make  her  mine  ; 

No  common  love  do  I  adore  : 
Toward  me  does  her  heart  incline  ?  " 

But  Echo  would  reply  no  more. 


THE   SHADOW   ON    THE  13EACH  III 


THE  SHADOW  ON  THE  BEACH 

T  SEE  it  in  the  twilight 
•*•      Still  moving  to  and  fro, 
A  shadow  tall  and  stately, 
With  graceful  step  and  slow. 

I  see  it  in  the  moonshine  ; 

And  then  its  texture  bright 
Seems  woven  of  the  glimmer 

That  makes  the  summer  night. 

I  see  it  when,  low  trailing, 
The  fog  shuts  out  the  bay, 

And  in  the  lighthouse  flickers 
The  ghost-lamp  far  away. 

I  see  it,  tall  and  graceful, 
Glide  o'er  the  hard  beach  sand, 

While,  with  their  wistful  sweetness, 
Her  eyes  turn  where  I  stand. 

Her  lips  move  as  in  speaking, 
But  yet  no  sound  is  heard  ; 

And,  though  I  long  to  answer, 
My  pulse  alone  is  stirred. 


I  I  2  LOVE 

I  know  it  is  not  dreaming, 
And  yet  she  is  not  there, 

Though  back  and  forth  it  paces, 
The  shadow  sweet  and  fair. 

And  that  it  is  a  shadow 

But  makes  the  heart  beat  more. 

As  well  I  know  her  footstep 
Leaves  no  print  on  the  shore. 

When  now  she  stops  before  me, 
The  buried  years  arise, 

And  all  the  past  is  looking 
From  out  the  sad,  sweet  eyes. 

Ah,  would  it  were  no  shadow  ! 

Then  might  I  take  her  hand, 
And  tell  her  all  my  story, 

And  she  would  understand. 

But,  now,  alas  !  where  is  she  ? 

I  walk  beside  the  main, 
And  she  walks  ever  by  me, — 

A  shadow  of  the  brain. 


PROBLEMS 


WHERE  IS  GOD 

OH,  where  is  the  sea  ? "  the  fishes  cried, 
As  they  swam  the  crystal  clearness  through. 
"  We've  heard  from  of  old  of  the  ocean's  tide, 

And  we  long  to  look  on  the  waters  blue. 
The  wise  ones  speak  of  the  infinite  sea: 
Oh,  who  can  tell  us  if  such  there  be ! " 

The  lark  flew  up  in  the  morning  bright, 
And  sung  and  balanced  on  sunny  wings  ; 

And  this  was  its  song  :  "  I  see  the  light, 
I  look  o'er  a  world  of  beautiful  things ; 

But,  flying  and  singing  everywhere, 

In  vain  I  have  searched  to  find  the  air." 


114  PROBLEMS 


THE  AGE'S  UNREST 

was  when  rung  cathedral  bells 
O'er  all  the  quiet  lands  ; 
And  awe-hushed  multitudes  received 
God's  life  at  priestly  hands. 

Man  questioned  not  the  churches'  word, 
Nor  dared  the  churches'  bann, 

But  like  a  brook  within  its  banks 
His  aspirations  ran. 

But  brooks  in  mountains  take  their  rise  ; 

And  mountains  from  the  sky 
Their  pouring  floods  receive,  that  all 

Man's  barriers  defy. 

New  floods  of  light  and  truth  and  life 

Broke  on  the  hills  one  day, 
And,  pouring  downward  to  the  plain, 

Swept  all  the  banks  away. 

The  flood  rose  over  all  the  earth ; 

And  the  cathedral  bell 
Rung  wild  alarm  until  its  walls 

In  one  vast  ruin  fell. 


THE   AGE'S    UNREST  115 

The  flood  rose  over  all  the  earth  ; 

It  rose  o'er  hill-tops  high, 
And  lifted  its  exultant  hands 

To  greet  the  startled  sky. 

This  flood  of  questioning  swept  on  ; 

It  tested  all  the  creeds  ; 
And  naught  escaped  but  truth  and  love 

And  human-helping  deeds. 

In  their  new  liberty  men  asked 

The  stars  their  secret  old 
And  how  the  days  of  spring  produce 

The  harvest-heads  of  gold  ; 

And  how  life  came  upon  the  earth  ; 

What  distant  ages  wrought ; 
And  how  is  born  within  the  brain 

The  mystery  of  thought. 

And  then  they  questioned  poverty, 

Man's  sorrow  and  man's  sin  ; 
And  through  what  chemic  compound  rare. 

Life's  secret  they  might  win. 

The  stars  their  secret  still  withhold  ; 

The  brain  thought's  mystery  hides  ; 
And  wrong  and  poverty  remain, 

And  sorrow  still  abides. 


Il6  PROBLEMS 

Then  was  it  better  when  the  bell 
Rocked  the  cathedral  tower, 

And  awe-hushed  multitudes  knelt  clown 
Beneath  the  priesthood's  power  ? 

Is  life  now  happier  than  of  yore, 
Since  in  its  feverish  quest 

It's  lost  its  old-time  peace,  and  found 
Not  yet  abiding  rest  ? 

Nay,  if  man  be  indeed  a  child 

Of  the  eternal  life, 
Better  than,  pillowed  on  a  lie, 

Must  be  an  endless  strife. 

For,  in  the  eternal  search  for  truth, 
His  growing  powers  are  taught 

To  nerve  their  sinews  till  they're  strong 
To  scale  the  heights  of  thought. 

To  sleep  with  perfect  truth  itself 
For  pillow  'neath  his  head, 

This  is  his  birthright  to  forego, 
And  live  as  he  were  dead. 

But  in  pursuit  of  truth  and  God, 
Up  height  on  height  of  time, 

Through  godlike  growth  he  vindicates 
His  godlike  birth  sublime. 


WHAT   DOES    IT   BRING  117 

And  none  but  he  that's  infidel 

May  doubt  that  truth,  some  day, 
Will  give  man  back  a  fairer  earth 

Than  that  she  swept  away. 


WHAT  DOES  IT  BRING 

A     SHIP  comes  up  from  under  the  world. 
**•     "  What  do  you  bring,  O  ship  ?  "  he  cried. 
The  answer  came  :  "  'Neath  flag  unfurled, 
Laughter  and  song,  and  —  a  fair  dead  bride. 

"I  bring  fool's  jests,  and — a  heart's  deep  woe  ; 

News  of  a  friend,  and  —  a  word  of  despair  ; 
I  bring  bright  hopes  from  the  world  below, 

And  a  soul  storm-tossed  and  worn  with  care. 

"  I  bring  a  child  whose  mother  is  dead  ; 

I  bring  a  man  deserting  his  wife, — 
Light  and  shadow,  and  poison  and  bread, 

The  tragical  comedy  of  life. 

"  Perhaps  I  bring  a  gift  for  you  ; 

But  do  not  covet  it,  do  not  shrink : 
You  know  not  whether  'tis  false  or  true, 

Or  better  or  worse  than  you  can  think." 


Il8  PROBLEMS 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SOUL 

TV  /T  Y  soul  still  sitteth  her  room  within  ; 
^^      She  goeth  not  out  of  her  door : 
But  she  longs  forever  to  know  the  world 
As  it  passes  her  house  before. 

She  may  not  go  out.     The  universe  knocks, 
And  throngs  all  her  anterooms  fill ; 

But  the  Senses  Five  stand  ever  on  guard, 
Admitting  but  whom  they  will. 

The  ear  leads  in  the  wonderful  sounds 

That  wander  her  echo  hall, — 
The  thunder,  the  bird-song,  the  wild  surf-beat, 

And  the  voices  of  love  that  call. 

The  eye  leads  in  the  colors  that  glow 

In  the  rainbow  and  sunset  sky ; 
The  apple-blooms  and  the  tinting  of  cheeks, 

And  love-looks  that  never  die. 

And  the  touch  and  taste  and  smell,  each  one 
Seeks  out  the  guests  that  it  knows  ; 

But  only  now  and  then  one  of  the  throng 
To  the  high,  inner  chamber  goes. 


THE    HOUSE   OF   THE   SOUL  lip 

And  so  my  soul  sitteth  her  house  within, 
While  the  universe  passes  without; 

Of  the  thronging  shapes  she  catches  a  glimpse, 
Or  hears  a  far-echoing  shout. 

She  waits  and  listens,  and  ever  she  longs 
To  see  all  things  real,  as  they  are ; 

But  the  doors  of  her  house  are  thick  and  strong, 
And  fastened  with  life's  firm  bar. 

She  knows  there  are  voices  she  never  hears, 

And  colors  she  never  sees ; 
She  knows  that  the  world  has  numberless  doors 

Of  which  she  has  not  the  keys. 

She  fears  she  knows  nothing  as  it  is, 

But  shadows  and  echoes  only ; 
So  up  and  down  through  her  rooms  she  goes, 

Wistfully  longing  and  lonely. 

And  she  cries  :  "  Shall  I  never  know  the  world 

That  passes  so  near  to  my  door  ? 
Shall  I  never  find  out  the  things  to  be, 

Or  the  things  that  were  of  yore  ? 

"  Shall  I  never  thrust  back  the  wards  that  lock 

The  innermost  heart  of  things  ? 
Shall  I  never  break  down  my  narrow  walls 

Or  expand  my  prisoned  wings  ? 


120  PROBLEMS 


"  Perhaps —  who  knows? —  I  may  fly  one  day, 

And,  alight  on  some  fairer  star, 
Where  shadows  are  only  mists  of  the  past 

I  may  see  things  as  they  are." 


THE  ANCIENT 

"\  1  7"ITH  the  ancient  dwelleth  wisdom," 

*  •       So  the  proverb  long  has  run  ; 
But  where  is  it  dwells  the  ancient, — 
In  what  clime,  beneath  what  sun  ? 

Looking  for  the  temple  hoary, 
Down  the  ages  past  men  go, — 

Listening  for  the  far-off  whisper, 
Thus  the  sacred  lore  to  know. 

But  from  out  the  early  twilight 

Of  the  earth's  primeval  time, 
Wrecks  of  kingdoms  and  religions, 

Lisping  love  and  stammering  rhyme, 

Speaks  no  orbed  and  finished  wisdom  ; 

From  the  sky  no  final  word  : 
Tongues  confused  and  fragments  muttered 

Only  childish  voices  heard. 


THE   ANCIENT  121 

But  down  from  the  heavens  falling, 
On  the  fresh  winds  whispering  clear, 

Comes  a  voice  that  earnest  crieth, 
"  '  He  that  hath  ears,  let  him  hear  ! ' 

"  Lo,  ye  seek  in  vain  that  follow 
Back  the  path  the  past  hath  trod  : 

Stand  upon  thy  feet  and  listen 
What  to-day  commandeth  God. 

"  Seek  ye  wisdom  in  the  cradle  ? 

Know  ye  not  the  earth's  young  morn 
Bent  above  the  primal  jungle, 

Where,  in  twilight,  man  was  born  ? 

"  Childish  wonder,  childish  questions, 

Childish  guesses  after  truth, 
Fickle  gods  and  freakish  nature, — 

These  the  fancies  of  his  youth. 

"  Only  now  at  last  he  standeth 

On  the  border  of  his  prime, 
Looking  up  the  ages  leading 

To  the  far-off  heights  of  time. 

"  For  old  age,  you've  taken  childhood  ; 

Childhood's  lisping  counted  wise  ; 
Babblings  of  the  cradle  reckoned 

Wisdom  flowing  from  the  skies. 


122  PROBLEMS 

"  Would  you  hear  earth's  grown-up  wisdom  ? 

From  the  cradle  turn  away ; 
Put  the  past  behind  ;  look  forward  ; 

Ask  th'  opinion  of  to-day. 

"  Now,  of  all  times,  is  the  eldest : 
This  hour  in  her  hand  doth  hold 

Garnered  fruit  of  all  the  ages, 
All  their  sifted  grains  of  gold. 

"'With  the  ancient  dwelleth  wisdom': 
Seek  then  where  the  ancient  dwells. 

Hear  To-day;  and,  bending  forward, 
Catch  the  truth  To-morrow  tells. 

"  For  each  round  upon  Time's  ladder, 
Sloping  upward  toward  the  light, 

Brings  thee  nearer  to  the  temple 
Wherein  dwells  th'  eternal  Right." 


MY   BIRTH  123 


MY    BIRTH 

T   HAD  my  birth  where  stars  were  born, 
-*•      In  the  dim  aeons  of  the  past : 
My  cradle  cosmic  forces  rocked, 
And  to  my  first  was  linked  my  last. 

Through  boundless  space  the  shuttle  flew, 
To  weave  the  warp  and  woof  of  fate  : 

In  my  begetting  were  conjoined 
The  infinitely  small  and  great. 

The  outmost  star  on  being's  rim, 
The  tiniest  sand-grain  of  the  earth, 

The  farthest  thrill  and  nearest  stir 
Were  not  indifferent  to  my  birth. 

And  when  at  last  the  earth  swung  free, 

A  little  planet  by  the  moon, 
For  me  the  continent  arose, 

For  me  the  ocean  roared  its  tune ; 

For  me  the  forests  grew ;  for  me 
Th'  electric  force  ran  to  and  fro  ; 

For  me  tribes  wandered  o'er  the  earth, 
Kingdoms  arose,  and  cities  grew; 


124  PROBLEMS 

For  me  religions  Waxed  and  waned ; 

For  me  the  ages  garnered  store ; 
For  me  ships  traversed  every  sea  ; 

For  me  the  wise  ones  learned  their  lore ; 

For  me,  through  fire  and  blood  and  tears, 
Man  struggled  onward  up  the  height, 

On  which,  at  last,  from  heaven  falls 
An  ever  clearer,  broader  light. 

The  child  of  all  the  ages,  I, 

Nursed  on  th'  exhaustless  breasts  of  time ; 
By  heroes  thrilled,  by  sages  taught, 

Sung  to  by  bards  of  every  clime. 

Quintessence  of  the  universe, 

Distilled  at  last  from  God's  own  heart, 

In  me  concentred  now  abides 
Of  all  that  is  the  subtlest  part. 

The  product  of  the  ages  past, 
Heir  of  the  future  then,  am  I : 

So  much  am  I  divine  that  God 
Cannot  afford  to  let  me  die. 

If  I  should  ever  cease  to  be, 
The  farthest  star  its  mate  would  miss, 

And,  looking  after  me,  would  fall 

Down  headlong  darkening  to  th'  abyss. 


THE   FORBIDDEN   SONG  125 

For,  if  aught  real  that  is  could  cease, 

If  the  All-Father  ever  nods, 
That  day  across  the  heavens  would  fall 

Ragnarok,  twilight  of  the  gods. 


THE  FORBIDDEN  SONG 

'''I  "'IS  said,  in  old  Granada, 
•*•       Then  held  in  captive  bands, 

Enslaved  in  their  own  city, 
Held  down  by  foreign  hands, 

When  once,  in  accents  plaintive, 
The  old  songs  rose  in  air, 

The  people  from  their  houses 
Rushed  out  in  mad  despair. 

The  songs  brought  back  the  freedom 
Once  theirs  in  days  of  yore, — 

A  freedom  only  sleeping, 

Though  now  enjoyed  no  more. 

Then  passed  a  law  these  tyrants, 
Who  feared  a  singer's  breath, 

That  none  might  sing  forever 
That  song,  on  pain  of  death. 


1 26  PROBLEMS 

So  human  souls,  fast  fettered 
By  custom  old  and  creed, 

Are  only  drugged  and  sleeping, 
And  waiting  to  be  freed ; 

And,  when  the  song  of  freedom 
Some  bold  voice  grandly  sings, 

They  feel  within  them  stirring 
Their  long  unusdd  wings. 

A  far-off  recollection 
Of  birth-rights  lost  arise, 

Of  that  diviner  sonship 

Which  links  them  with  the  skies. 

So,  lest  the  priesthood  totter, 
And  souls  their  freedom  gain, 

This  song  divine's  forbidden, 
On  threat  of  endless  pain. 


THE   PEOPLE  127 


THE  PEOPLE 

,  placable  and  patient  race, 
Thy  burden  bearing  through  the  years, 
How  often  marred  with  grief  thy  face, 
How  oft  thine  eyes  are  dim  with  tears ! 

How  patient  art  thou  with  thy  gods, 
Still  framing  for  them  some  excuse, 

Bending  thy  back  beneath  their  rods, 
And  turning  pain  to  noble  use  ! 

How  patient  art  thou  with  thy  kings 
That  rob,  and  fatten  on  thy  spoils  ! 

While  each  new  year  new  burden  brings, 
To  bind  thee  to  thy  weary  toils. 

Be  patient  still,  and  labor  on  ! 

Thy  waiting  is  not  all  in  vain  ; 
For,  see !  long  hours  of  dark  are  gone, 

And,  east,  the  night  begins  to  wane. 

Science,  man's  mighty  friend,  has  bound 
Nature's  trained  forces,  foes  no  more  : 

They  stamp  their  hoofs,  and  at  the  sound 
Flies  open  every  once  barred  door. 


128  PROBLEMS 

And  through  these  doors  man  shall  advance, 
And  find  free  course  o'er  all  the  earth ; 

No  more  the  slave  of  circumstance, 
But  rising  to  his  kingly  worth. 

He  claims  his  birthright  now,  and  reigns : 
The  Titans  that  o'er  chaos  ruled, — 

Lightning  and  steam, —  with  giant  pains, 
Now  run  his  errands,  trained  and  schooled. 

O  People,  once  a  mass,  held  down, 
The  plaything  of  the  priest  and  king, 

You  yet  shall  come  into  your  own, 
And  to  you  earth  her  tribute  bring. 

Dethroned,  the  gods  of  wrong  and  hate  ; 

Dethroned,  the  old-time  kingly  power ; 
Dethroned,  the  priesthood's  selfish  state  : 

Reason  enthroned,  then  comes  your  hour ! 

The  spelling-book  shall  be  the  key 
To  thrust  back  in  the  lock  of  fate 

The  musty  bolts  of  destiny, 

And  bid  you  enter  now,  though  late. 

But,  on  God's  dial-plate  of  time, 
'Tis  never  late  for  him  who  stands 

Self-centred  in  a  trust  sublime, 

With  mastered  force  and  thinking  hands. 


DEAD   GODS  I 29 

The  world  then  all  before  you  lies : 

The  stars  fight  for  you ;  and  there  waits 

A  future  where  bold  enterprise 

Flings  open  wide  the  long-shut  gates. 


DEAD  GODS 

man  may  live,  the  gods  must  die  : 
•*•       Past  crumbling  altar,  vacant  throne, 

Man  marches  on  to  make  his  own 
The  vantage  heights  of  destiny. 

But,  with  a  pang,  we  leave  the  shrine 
Where  bent  our  father's  knees  in  prayer  : 
The  shadowy  gods  still  linger  there, 

And  haunt  the  spot  with  forms  divine. 

But  ever  on  the  thoughtful  ear 

The  same  voice  that  the  fathers  led 
Imperious  calls,  "Why  'mongst  the  dead 

Seek  ye  the  living  ?  up,  and  hear  ! 

"  Foolish  and  blind  !  art  not  aware 
That  idols  may  be  carved  in  thought? 
Not  all  are  by  the  graver  wrought ; 

But  most,  of  fancies  light  as  air. 


130  PROBLEMS 

"  Of  Him  who  is  the  Infinite 

Man's  mind  can  but  an  image  frame  ; 
And  by  whatever  sacred  name 

You  call  the  image,  still  new  light 

"  Shed  on  the  world,  or  on  the  mind, 

Forever  antiquates  the  old. 

If  ever  larger  life  unfold, 
The  childish  must  be  left  behind. 

"  Dead  gods  are  but  dead  fancies  then, — 

Ideals  of  a  larger  truth 

Than  earth  had  brain-room  for  in  youth, — 
That  cannot  feed  the  coming  men. 

"  Up  then,  and  on  !  the  past  is  past, 
And  it  was  well ;  but  now  arise 
New  visions  of  the  earth  and  skies, — 

A  universe  so  grand  and  vast 

"  Old  gods,  old  systems,  and  old  creeds 
Seem  but  as  playhouse  schemes  and  ways, 
Such  as  amused  his  childhood  days, 

To  one  now  ripe  for  manly  deeds. 

"  The  gods  arc  dead  !  but  God  abides  ! 

And  man  and  his  high  hopes  are  here ! 

Cringe  to  the  ghosts  no  more  in  fear  ; 
But  'tween  the  ghosts  and  God  choose  sides  ! " 


AT   SEA  131 


AT  SEA 

T  'VE  waked  up  on  mid-ocean,  but  to  find 

•*•      My  ship  far  out  from  that  mysterious  port 

Where  anchor  first  was  weighed.     I  look  behind, 

Along  my  white  track  that  fades  into  blue, 

And  see  the  round  rim  of  the  swinging  world 

Closed  in  by  far-off  skies  that  seem  to  melt, 

Blue  kissing  blue,  into  their  counterpart, — 

The  all-encircling  sea.     I  know  not  now 

In  what  strange  land  my  being  had  its  birth ; 

What  forests  fell  to  build  my  wondrous  ship  ; 

What  skilled  hands  fashioned  it ;  adown  what  ways, 

And  by  what  shouts  accompanied,  it  leapt 

To  join  the  element  for  which  it  yearned. 

I  lean  across  the  rail,  and  call  to  those  — 

My  voyage  companions  —  that  along  with  me 

Sail  on  the  same  strange  journey,  but  in  vain. 

They  but  repeat  my  question,  and  beseech, 

If  I  remember  aught,  to  tell  them  whence, 

And  by  what  impulse  urged,  we  started  out 

To  go  —  none  knoweth  whither. 

For  we  turn, 

And  looking  onward  o'er  the  untried  sea, 
With  equal  wonder  in  our  eyes,  we  strain 


132  PROBLEMS 

To  gain  some  glimpse  of  countries  still  before. 
Toward  what  port  drives  on  the  unseen  power 
Whose  hand  is  on  the  wheel  no  man  can  tell. 
Strange  lands  fall  off —  as  we  pursue  our  way  — 
To  right  and  left,  and  sink  behind  the  sea. 
New  constellations  glitter  in  the  skies, 
Strange  skies  to  us,  in  turn  outsailed  for  new ; 
And  still  right  on,  toward  what  lands  we  dream, 
But  only  dream,  since  never  man  may  know. 

But  yet  I  tremble  not ;  or,  if  I  do, 

'Tis  only  with  some  fresh  expectance  keen 

Of  what  shall  next  befall.     For  wonder  strange 

Doth  swallow  up  all  fear,  and  bids  me  wait, 

On  tiptoe  with  on-looking  eyes,  to  see 

What  new  mirage  shall  tremble  on  the  air, 

Or  what  new  land  shall  rise  above  the  main. 

The  whence,  the  whither,  I  may  answer  not ; 
But,  ne'ertheless,  the  present  hour  is  mine. 
I  will  not  fling  away  this  grand  to-day, 
Because  the  wondrous,  circling  infinite 
Doth  swallow  up  beginning  both  and  end. 
I  feel,  I  see,  I  hear,  I  think ;  and  this, 
The  grand  fact  of  existence,  is  so  strange. 
No  other  marvel  can  appall  me  now. 
I  face  the  infinite,  and  feel  the  thrill 


AT   SEA  133 

That  tells  me  with  its  nature  I  am  kin. 

The  waters  answer  to  me,  and  the  skies 

Bend  loving  down  to  kiss  me  with  their  winds  ; 

And  the  great  stars,  that,  when  the  sun  is  gone, 

Gleam  out  of  silent  spaces,  lift  me  up 

And  tell  me  that  I  sail  the  same  grand  blue 

Through  which  they  range  the  orbit  of  their  life. 

And  when  the  mighty  sun  broods  his  red  wings 

Above  the  broad  expanse  of  gleaming  sea, 

And  gives  me  back  the  island's  darkness  stole, 

I  shout  with  life  exultant ;  then  sit  still 

To  drink  in  all  the  beauty  of  the  world, 

Until  the  joy  brims  o'er  my  eyes  in  tears. 

The  happy  lands,  the  trees,  the  birds,  the  brooks 

Down   dancing  with   their  caps  white-plumed  with 

spray  ; 

The  mountains  that  will  climb  the  heavens  to  catch 
The  coming  dawn,  or  kiss  the  evening  star  ; 
The  moon  that  loves  her  shadow  in  the  sea, — 
All  these,  the  unsolved  mystery  of  the  world, 
So  fill  the  hours  with  thought,  so  thrill  my  soul 
With  hints  of  that  almighty  power  that  hides 
Behind  this  scenic  majesty,  that  oft 
I  half-desire  to  wake  —  if  dream  this  be, 
And  death  be  waking  —  that  with  open  eyes 
I  may  discern  the  strange  reality. 
So  wondrous  is  this  ocean  that  I  sail ; 


134  PROBLEMS 

So  wondrous  is  the  ship,  and  all  the  scene 
Of  sky  and  landscape  ;  so  more  strange  than  all 
This  seeing,  feeling  of  the  enigma,  self, — 
I  cannot  doubt  that  there,  behind  the  scenes, 
Some  master-player  sits,  who  knows  the  end, 
And  knows  it  worthy  of  this  grand  display. 

So  I  will  wait,  and  look,  and  take  delight 

In  all  the  passing  pageant  ;  and  at  last, 

When  falls  the  curtain,  it  shall  be  upon 

A  denouement  to  solve  the  mystery, 

And  make  me  glad  that  I  played  out  my  part. 


THE  VILLAGE  "  INFIDEL  " 

"  I  ^HEY  knew  not  what  to  do  with  him. 
•••       If  all  the  creeds  were  true, 
He  should  have  been,  in  all  the  town, 
The  worst  man  any  knew. 

He  only  smiled  at  Adam's  sin, 
And  said  he'd  ne'er  consent 

That  one  he  never  voted  for 
His  soul  should  represent. 


THE   VILLAGE   "INFIDEL"  135 

And  though  he  should  have  been  depraved 

To  help  their  logic  out, 
His  life  was  blameless  found,  in  spite 

Of  all  his  dreadful  doubt. 

They  tried  to  make  him  penitent ; 

But  he  would  only  say, 
"  I  seek  to  help  my  fellow-men, 

And  do  my  best  each  day." 

And,  when  they  of  atonement  spoke, 

He  said,  "  I  cannot  see 
How  punishing  another  makes 

A  better  man  of  me." 

And,  when  his  reason  they  decried, 

He  said,  "  Although  my  eyes 
Sometimes  deceive,  to  put  them  out 

Seems  to  me  hardly  wise." 

And  when  at  last,  all  patience  gone, 

They  said  he'd  go  to  hell, 
He  said,  "  Where  sense  and  duty  lead, 

The  end  must  sure  be  well. 

"  Tradition  may  be  false  or  true, 

But  God  is  living  still  ; 
And  in  the  laws  of  earth  and  man 

He  writeth  down  his  will. 


136  PROBLEMS 

"  And,  as  I  read,  He  bids  me  seek 
These  laws  and  them  obey. 

Thus  where  I  see  his  footsteps  lead 
I  follow  as  I  may. 

"  If  I  can  build  God's  kingdom  here, 
His  reign  of  love  and  light, 

I  fear  not  what  the  future  holds, 
But  know  'twill  all  be  right." 

They  knew  not  what  to  do  with  him ; 

For  all  the  children  ran 
To  meet  him  as  he  walked  the  street, 

And  bless  the  kindly  man. 

The  sick,  the  poor,  revered  his  name, 
And  learned  the  hand  to  bless 

Which  ever  was  wide  open  held 
To  scatter  happiness. 

And  one,  more  bold  than  others,  said, 
"If  he's  not  Christian,  then 

He's  surely  something  quite  as  good 
Who  loves  his  fellow-men." 


THE  POET'S  ART  137 


THE  POET'S  ART 

poetry  is  in  the  thought : 
He's  rich  who  owns  a  golden  store, 
Or  if  to  beauteous  forms  'tis  wrought, 
Or  if  it  be  but  native  ore." 

So  says  one  critic  ;  but  replies 

Another,  "  Poetry's  an  art : 
From  nature  how  can  art  arise, 

In  which  the  maker  plays  no  part  ? 

"  For  poet's  but  another  name 

For  one  who  makes ;  and  all  must  own 
That  naught  to  be  true  art  can  claim, 

That  nature  ever  makes  alone. 

"  A  man  with  nature  must  combine  : 
Not  thought  alone,  but  form  must  be 

Wrought  perfect  in  its  every  line 
To  make  the  art  of  poetry. 

"  How  is  it  in  the  painter's  art  ? 

Is  aiming  at  a  grand  design 
True  painting,  though  the  hand  impart 

Defective  color,  crude  outline  ? 


138  PROBLEMS 

"  In  sculpture,  is  it  deemed  enough 
To  hold  a  grand  thought  in  the  brain, 

Or  must  the  marble's  plastic  stuff 

Through  perfect  form  the  thought  make  plain  ? 

"  Is  music  only  noble  sounds  ? 

Or,  ranging  on  through  every  key, 
Must  some  fine  scheme,  with  notes  and  bounds, 

Shape  all  to  some  grand  harmony  ? 

"  So  poetry's  not  only  thought ; 

But  thought  by  fancy's  fires  made  warm  ; 
Then  by  some  master  workman  wrought 

To  perfect  beauty's  perfect  form." 


THE  OLD  PROBLEM 

OHE  had  just  one  wee  bird  in  her  nest, 
**-s     And  she  loved  it.  oh,  so  dear  ! 
She  cooed  o'er  it,  sang  to  it,  brooded  its  rest, 
And  kept  it  from  shadow  of  fear. 

I  saw  the  nest  empty  :  the  mother  apart 

Sat  silent,  with  never  a  song. 
The  earth's  oldest  problem  oppressed  her  dumb  heart, 

Accusing  the  world  of  its  wrong. 


LAUGHTER   AND   DEATH  139 


LAUGHTER  AND  DEATH 

'"  I  "IS  man  alone,  the  plaything  of  his  fears, 
•*•       Blown  by  the  winds  of  fickle  fate  forever, 
Whose  mocking  destiny  all  high  endeavor 

Turns  but  to  nothing  through  the  fruitless  years ; 

'Tis  man,  whose  path  is  blinded  by  his  tears, 
Who  seeketh  always,  and  who  findeth  never, 
And  who  from  all  he  loves  sad  death  will  sever ; 

'Tis  he  upon  whose  lips  the  smile  appears  ; 

Tis  he  alone  who  laughs  who  also  cries, — 

Laughs  in  the  face  of  fate  and  grief  and  death ! 

"Read  me  the  strange  enigma!  "  thus  I  crave. 
Why,  but  because  he  knows  the  appearance  lies, 
And  storms  of  evil  rage  with  futile  breath? 
The  smile  is  sunshine  from  beyond  the  grave. 


[40  PROBLEMS 


IF  A  SHIP,  A  SEA 

T   WILL  believe  but  what  I  see  : 
•*•      The  ocean  is  a  myth,"  he  cried. 
"  I've  looked  on  hills  and  vales  and  plains, 
But  never  o'er  the  rushing  tide." 

He  came  where,  by  a  river's  bank, 

Men  built  a  structure  strange  and  high. 

With  hollow  sides  and  anchors  huge, 
And  masts  that  lifted  to  the  sky. 

And,  while  he  laughed  these  men  to  scorn, 
The  winds  blew  fresh  far  out  to  sea, 

While  tides  flowed  in  and  tides  flowed  out, 
And  ships  went  sailing  glad  and  free. 

The  Master-builder  of  the  world, 
Here,  on  the  narrow  ways  of  time, 

Rears  souls  so  grand  their  range  must  be 
'Neath  wider  skies  in  some  far  clime. 


TOMORROW  141 


TO-MORROW 

head  aches  !     Tired  of  thinking, 
One  forward  glimpse  I'd  borrow. 
Dark  chains  of  thought  I'm  linking, — 
Will  they  be  bright  to-morrow  ? 

My  heart  aches !     I  am  weary 

Of  my  unrest  and  sorrow. 
To-day  is  dark  and  dreary, — 

Will  it  be  bright  to-morrow  ? 

That  golden  time  !  who's  found  it, 
That  ever-sought  to-morrow  ? 

Cluster  all  hopes  around  it, 
Without  one  touch  of  sorrow. 

Vain  fancy  !  Sing  thy  sonnet, 

And  days  from  dreamland  borrow : 

But  sun  ne'er  shone  upon  it, — 
There  never  was  to-morrow ! 


142  PROBLEMS 


A  CHRISTMAS  THOUGHT 


"  I^HE  children  are  a  prophecy 
*•       Of  what  shall  one  day  be, 
When  we  a  fairer  land  have  gained 
Beyond  to-day's  rough  sea. 

We  weary,  tugging  at  the  oars  : 
Our  hearts  grow  sick  and  faint  : 

Their  younger  arms  the  ship  shall  guide, 
Their  shouts  drown  our  complaint. 

We  sigh,  "The  land  is  far  away," 

And  give  the  struggle  o'er  ; 
They'll  bring  the  vessel  into  port, 

And  leap  upon  the  shore. 

The  Christmas  hope  to  us  is  dim, 

And  God  seems  far  away  : 
Our  children's  songs  shall  usher  in 

The  endless  Christmas  day. 


''DO   MEN   GATHER   FIGS    FROM   THISTLES?"         143 


"DO    MEN    GATHER    FIGS    FROM 
THISTLES  ? " 

CHRIST  in  heaven,  if  thou  leanest  o'er 

The  battlements  and  lookest  down  below, 
And  seest  the  men  who  claim  to  love  thee  so, 
Is  not  thy  gentle  soul  with  pity  sore  ? 
Thy  Church  banns  honest  thought ;  and  evermore 
Goes  up,  through  firm  white  lips,  a  cry  of  woe 
From  true  men,  cursed  because  they  seek  to  know, 
And  dare  to  knock  at  Truth's  unopened  door. 

"Dare  not  to  question  what  the  past  has  said  !  " 
So  cry  the  priests  :  "  Say  you  accept  the  creeds, 
Though  honest  thought  cry  shame  !     Then  lofty 

place 

And  honor !     Else,  name-slandered,  e'en  thy  bread 
Shall  fail  !  "     So,  from  thine  altar,  o'er  his  beads, 
Looks  out  Hypocrisy  with  leering  face. 


144  PROBLEMS 


INFIDELITY 

\\T HO  is  the  infidel,  but  he  who  fears 

To  face  the  utmost  truth,  whate'er  it  be  ? 

Dreads  God  the  light  ?  and  is  his  majesty 
A  shadow  that  in  sunshine  disappears  ? 
Or  leads  he  on  the  swift-ascending  years 

Into  a  light  where  men  may  plainer  see  ? 

He  trusts  him  best,  to  whom  the  mystery 
Hides  nothing  dangerous ;  who  ever  hears, 

With  faith  unshaken,  his  new-uttered  voice, 
And  knows  it  cannot  contradict  the  truth 

It  in  the  old  time  spoke.     Whate'er  it  saith, 
He  fears  not  then,  but  bids  his  heart  rejoice, 
In  old  age  trustful  as  he  was  in  youth. 
This  only,  though  called  infidel,  is  faith. 


CALIBAN  145 


CALIBAN 

INCE  man  with  his  own  heart  must  feel, 

With  his  own  eyes  must  see, 
He  makes  the  world  in  which  he  dwells 
Or  good  or  bad  to  be. 

From  his  own  substance,  he  secretes 

His  own  enclosing  shell, 
And  shapes  the  voices  from  without 

That  must  life's  meanings  tell. 

And,  if  the  wondrous  world  is  small 

And  mean  to  Caliban, 
We  only  need  to  turn  and  ask, 

What  is  it  to  a  man  ? 


PERSONS 

JAMES  A.  GARFIELD 

(Sept.  27,  1881) 

"1 1  7"ITH  finger  on  lip  and  breath  bated, 

•  •       With  an  eager  and  sad  desire, 
The  world  stood  hushed,  as  it  waited 
For  the  click  of  the  fateful  wire. 

"Better,"  and  civilization 

Breathed  freer  and  hoped  again. 

"  Worse"  and  through  every  nation 
Went  throbbing  a  thrill  of  pain. 

A  cry  at  midnight     and,  listening, 

"Dead!"  tolled  out  the  bells  of  despair; 

And  millions  of  eyelids  were  glistening 
As  sobbed  the  sad  tones  on  the  air. 


JAMES   A.   GARFIELD  147 

But  who  is  he  toward  whom  all  eyes  are  turning  ? 
And  who  is  he  for  whom  all  hearts  are  yearning  ? 

What  is  the  threat  at  which  earth  holds  its  breath 
While  one  lone  man  a  duel  fights  with  death  ? 


No  thrones  are  hanging  in  suspense, 
No  kingdoms  totter  to  their  fall ; 

Peace,  with  her  gentle  influence, 
Is  hovering  over  all. 

'Tis  just  one  man  at  Elberon 

Who  waiteth  day  by  day, 
Whose  patience  all  our  hearts  has  won 

As  ebbs  his  life  away. 

His  birthday  waked  no  cannon  boom  ; 

No  purple  round  him  hung  : 
A  backwoods  cabin  gave  him  room, 

And  storms  his  welcome  sung.  . 

He  seized  the  sceptre  of  that  king 
Who  treads  a  freehold  sod  ; 

He  wore  upon  his  brow  that  ring 
That  crowns  a  son  of  God. 

By  his  own  might  he  built  a  throne, 

With  no  unhuman  arts, 
And  by  his  manhood  reigned  alone 

O'er  fifty  million  hearts. 


148  PERSONS 

Thus  is  humanity's  long  dream, 
Its  highest,  holiest  hope,  begun 

To  harden  into  fact,  and  gleam 
A  city  'neath  the  sun, — 

A  city,  not  like  that  which  came 
In  old-time  vision  from  the  skies, 

But  wrought  by  man  through  blood  and  flame, 
From  solid  earth  to  rise, — 

Man's  city  :  the  ideal  reign 

Where  every  human  right  hath  place  ; 
Where  blood,  nor  birth,  nor  priest  again 

Shall  bind  the  weary  race  ; 

In  which  no  king  but  man  shall  be .' 

'Twas  this  that  thrilled  with  loving  pain 

The  heart  of  all  the  earth,  as  he 
Died  by  the  sobbing  main. 

For,  mightiest  ruler  of  the  earth, 
He  was  the  mightiest,  not  because 

Of  priestly  touch,  or  blood,  or  birth, 
But  by  a  people's  laws. 


O  Garfield !  brave  and  patient  soul ! 
Long  as  the  tireless  tides  shall  roll 
About  the  Long  Branch  beaches,  where 
Thy  life  went  out  upon  the  air. 


JAMES   A.   GARFIELD  149 

So  long  thy  land,  from  sea  to  sea, 
Will  hold  thy  manhood's  legacy. 

There  were  two  parties  :  there  were  those, 
In  thine  own  party,  called  thy  foes  : 
There  was  a  North,  there  was  a  South, 
Ere  blazed  the  assassin's  pistol  mouth. 

But,  lo  !  thy  bed  became  a  throne  ; 

And,  as  the  hours  went  by,  at  length 
The  weakness  of  thine  arm  alone 

Grew  mightier  than  thy  strongest  strength. 

No  petulant  murmur,  no  vexed  cry 
Of  balked  ambitions,  but  a  high, 
Grand  patience  !     And  thy  whisper  blent 
In  one  heart  all  the  continent. 
To-day  there  are  no  factions  left, 
But  one  America  bereft. 


O  Garfield  !  fortunate  in  death  wast  thou, 
Though  at  the  opening  of  a  grand  career ! 

Thou  wast  a  meteor  flashing  on  the  brow 
Of  skies  political  where  oft  appear 

And  disappear  so  many  stars  of  promise.     Then, 
While  all  men  watched  thy  high  course,  wondering 

If  thou  wouldst  upward  sweep  or  fall  again, 

Thee  from  thine  orbit  mad  hands  thought  to  fling ; 


I 50  PERSONS 

And,  lo  !  the  meteor,  with  its  fitful  light, 
All  on  a  sudden  stood  and  was  a  star, — 

A  radiance  fixed,  to  glorify  the  night 

There  where  the  world's  proud  constellations  are. 


VANINI 

1609 

OO  late,  Vanini,  and  so  near  the  age 

^     We  dare  to  boast  from  superstition  free  ! 

We  might  forget  such  things  could  ever  be, 
And  blot  them  out  of  history's  bloody  page, 
Were  not  the  fangs  shown  now  in  impotent  rage 

That  in  thy  flesh  were  set  so  fatally ! 

They  did  thy  tongue  tear  out ;  and,  binding  thee 
Amid  the  faggots,  paid  thee  fiery  wage, 

Because  thou  daredst  assert  a  nobler  God 

Than  that  fierce   Moloch   that,  in    Christ's  dear 

name, 

They  set  up  as  thy  judge  to  punish  thee. 
The  same  truth  that  thou  saw'st  became  a  rod 
To  beat  to  dust  their  idol ;  and  the  flame 

That  burnt  thee  burnt  man's   bonds  and   set 
him  free. 


GALILEO  1 5 1 


GALILEO 

"VTES,  Galileo,  yes,  "  the  world  does  move  ! " 
*•       When,  on  thy  knees,  in  Europe's  twilight  hour, 
Thou  bendedst  'neath  the  priesthood's  iron  power, 
Who  dreamed  that  force  thy  truth   untruth   could 

prove, — 
E'en  then,  swift  onward  in  its  viewless  groove 

Of  air,  the  old  earth  sped  through  shine  and  shower; 
Until,  long  hid,  thy  seed  burst  into  flower, 
And  sprang  up  glad  to  greet  the  heavens  above. 

And  swifter  yet,  since  that  disgraceful  day, 

The  world  of  thought  has  swept  its  orbit  through, 

Till  brighter  skies  look  down  on  freer  lands. 
The  shackles  of  the  brain  now  rust  away ; 
The  Inquisition  fades  from  human  view, 
And  in  its  place  the  Observatory  stands. 


1 52  PERSONS 


MAGELLAN 

(God's  shadow  and  man's  authority) 

GRAND  Magellan,  fixing  thy  firm  gaze 
Upon  God's  shadow  in  the  upper  sky, 
While  Churchmen  call  thy  faith  impiety, 
And  hurl  their  curse  along  the  ocean  ways 
Thy  keel  is  cutting  toward  the  west,  where  blaze 
New  constellations  over  unknown  seas,  and  lie 
Worlds  undiscovered  in  a  mystery 
Unlifted,  though  the  ages  pass  like  days ! 

"  The  world  is  flat,  for  so  the  Scriptures  read  !  " 
"  Nay !  "  cries  the  hero.     "  In  the  moon's  eclipse, 

The  earth's  round  shadow  on  its  face  I  see  ! 
I  read  God's  works,  which  are  his  book  indeed, 
And  trust  the  hint  that  falleth  from  his  lips 
More  than  all  man's  infallibility." 


153 


KEPLER 

IF  God  himself  six  thousand  years  could  wait 
Till  I  was  born  to  comprehend  the  scheme 
Of  his  wide-ranging  worlds,  I  must  not  deem, 
Though  long  delayed,  the  recognition  late 
Which  comes  to  me,  the  seer.     Slow-footed  fate 
Is  not  quite  moveless  ;  and  the  age-long  dream 
Of  night  and  darkness  now  the  first  faint  gleam 
Of  morning  pierces.     On  the  dial-plate 

The  sun  moves  his  bright  finger;  and  at  last 
The  stars,  long  playing  on  the  brain  of  man, 

Have  set  his  thoughts  in  motion,  to  keep  time 
With  their  majestic  dance  across  the  vast 
Blue  floor  of  heaven,  threading  out  the  plan 
Of  God's  eternal  symphony  sublime. 


154  PERSONS 


DARWIN 

GOD,  thy  "  Holy  Church  infallible  " 

Did  place  thee  on  the  "  Index,"  in  the  name 
Of  thy  son  Kepler,  who  with  single  aim 
Sought  out  thy  starry  steps,  and  dared  to  tell 
Thy  secret,  that  the  world  had  failed  to  spell 
For  ages.     And  now,  once  again,  the  shame 
Of  thy  true  prophet,  banned  with  evil  fame, 
The  chorus  of  the  Church's  curse  doth  swell. 

But,  as  did  Kepler,  so  hath  Darwin  done  ! 
With  childlike  seeking,  he  found  out  the  way 

Where  God's  mysterious  feet  had  trod  before, 
And  humbly  followed.     Planet  thus  and  sun 
Hold  one's  high  fame  in  keeping  ;  and  for  aye 
Men's  loving  lips  will  tell  the  other  o'er. 


RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

~D  ESIDE  the  ocean,  wandering  on  the  shore, 
*-*     I  seek  no  measure  of  the  infinite  sea ; 

Beneath  the  solemn  stars  that  speak  to  me, 
I  may  not  care  to  reason  out  their  lore  ; 
Among  the  mountains,  whose  bright  summits  o'er 

The  flush  of  morning  brightens,  there  may  be 

Only  a  sense  of  might  and  majesty ; 
And  yet  a  thrill  of  infinite  life  they  pour 

Through  all  my  being,  and  uplift  me  high 
Above  my  little  self  and  weary  days. 

So,  in  thy  presence,  Emerson,  I  hear 
A  sea-voice  sounding  'neath  a  boundless  sky, 

While  mountainous  thoughts  tower  o'er  life's  com 
mon  ways, 
And  in  thy  sky  the  stars  of  truth  appear. 


156  PERSONS 


THE  PEOPLE'S  POET 

(Longfellow) 

OESIDE  the  farm-house,  where  the  weary  days 

*-*     Stoop  'neath  their  burden  in  the  summer  sun, 
Beneath  the  trees  there  does  a  brooklet  run, 

Now  still,  now  babbling  over  stony  ways. 

It  is  so  clear  at  noon  the  high  sun's  rays 
Glint  all  the  pebbly  bottom  ;  but  when  done 
The  tired  day,  and  evening  rest  is  won, 

The  quiet  twilight  through  the  farmer  stays 

Upon  the  cooling  bank,  while  round  his  knee 
The  children  frolic,  and  the  placid  brook 

Croons,  rests,  and  lifts  his  weary  heart  on  high. 
For,  while  the  children  love  the  brook  to  see, 
To  him  its  shadows  are  a  wondrous  book, 
Whose  words  are  stars  reflected  from  the  sky. 


R.  W.   S.  157 


R.  W.  S. 

"pvEAR  brother,— for  I  hold  thee  living  still, 
*-/     Where'er  thou  art  amid  the  radiant  spheres, - 

Standing  upon  the  threshold  of  thy  years, 
Thou  didst  my  noblest  dream  of  man  fulfil. 
A  passion  for  all  good ;  a  scorn  of  ill ; 

A  beauty  perfect  as  the  Belvidere's  ; 

A  heart  as  tender  as  a  woman's  tears ; 
And  all  subordinate  to  a  resolute  will. 

Such  is  the  dream  of  thee  I  still  hold  dear : 
Such  do  I  think  thee  now,  though  long  unseen. 
Hast  thou  forgotten  since  thou'rt  gone  away  ? 
Or  may  I  still  believe  that  thou  art  near, 

Clasp  hands  across  the  years  that  lie  between, 
And  hold  the  past  a  living  thing  to-day  ? 


1 58  PERSONS 


OF  R.  W.  S.     EARLY  DEAD 

(Aged  23) 

T  T  E  spoke  no  word  the  world  shall  hear, 
•*•  •*•      And  now  he  early  sleeps, 
While  o'er  him  watch  his  pine-trees  dear, 
That  sigh  while  evening  weeps. 

Yet  was  he  poet,  grander  far 
Than  many  a  one  whose  name 

Shines  from  its  eminence,  a  star, 
Whose  lustre  is  called  fame. 

For  his  soul  was  a  mirror,  bright 

As  any  placid  lake, 
Wherein  all  fair  things  take  delight 

Their  images  to  make. 

His  heart  was  full  of  budding  thought 
That  rarely  bloomed  in  speech  ; 

And  rich  dreams  his  fine  fancy  wrought, 
That  words  could  never  reach. 


OF   R.    W.   S.       EARLY  DEAD  159 

The  evening  landscape  was  to  him 

More  than  the  earth  and  sky ; 
He  saw  its  mystic  meanings  dim, 

And  read  its  poetry. 

There  was  between  his  soul  and  all 

Of  true,  and  good,  and  fair, 
A  sympathy  that  heard  their  call, 

And  spelled  their  lessons  rare. 

The  language  of  the  storm  that  roared, 

And  swept  the  northern  plain, 
Or  breeze,  whose  gentle  voice  was  lowered 

To  concord  with  the  rain, — 

Both  were  to  him  a  speechless  joy, 

That  melted  into  tears ; 
A  pleasure  time  could  not  destroy, 

Worn  deeper  by  the  years. 

Long  hours  he  lay  upon  the  leaves 
Where  branched  the  trees  o'erhead, 

Binding  his  musings  into  sheaves, 
By  memory  garnered*. 

The  flecking  sunshine  patched  the  ground, 
The  wind  soughed  through  the  pine, 

Until,  lapped  in  the  swathing  sound, 
He  walked  in  dreams  divine. 


l6o  PERSONS 

No  book  shall  bear  his  name  adown, 
To  bless  the  world  to  be  ; 

But  in  some  fair  land  he  is  known, 
A  prince  of  minstrelsy. 

For  many  a  tongue  that  here  was  tied 
Finds  sweetest  utterance  there  ; 

And  thoughts  that  here  unspoken  died 
Bloom  in  that  sunnier  air. 


^^    *  ^ 

¥ 


POT-POURRI 


LABOR  vs.  CAPITAL 

/T~>HE  Water  Corporation  charged 

•••       Too  high  a  price,  the  people  said ; 
So  they  the  reservoir  destroyed, 
And  cut  the  pipes  the  houses  fed. 

But,  when  their  passion  cooled,  they  saw 
That  it  might  not  be  always  best 

T'  abolish  all  the  capital 

To  lower  the  rate  of  interest. 


ALL  THINGS  NEW 


T/'  OPERNIK'S  thought  a  new  world  made, 
•*•  *•     Though  Ptolemy's  stars  still  shone. 
New  eyes  a  new  religion  gave, 
Yet  not  a  truth  was  gone. 


1 62  POT-POURRI 


HEADS  AND  HANDS 

A  RICH  man  in  his  parlor  sat, 
And  talked  about  the  labor  "  strike  "  ; 
And,  in  his  easy,  careless  chat, 

Said  •  "  Let  them  grumble,  Tom  and  Mike 
We've  got  them  '  on  the  hip  ' ;  and  they 
May  please  themselves, —  or  go,  or  stay." 

But  when  the  panic  came  at  last, 

And  all  the  wheels  of  trade  stood  still, 

He  found  all  life  an  engine  vast 

In  which  each  cog  its  place  must  fill. 

'Twas  then  he  came  to  understand 

The  head  was  weak  without  the  hand. 


BOOK  COMPASSION 

A     LADY  wept  o'er  "  Little  Nell," 
**•     As  Dickens  told  her  sorrows  o'er. 
Just  then,  her  servant  came  to  tell 
A  ragged  child  was  at  the  door 
She  looked  up,  brushed  her  tears  aside, 
And,  "  Can't  be  bothered  !  "  she  replied. 


EGOTISM  163 


MAN'S  ALLY 

\~\  J HO  lifts  a  sail  invites  the  sun 

*  *       To  take  his  little  craft  in  hand ; 
And,  when  his  voyage  is  o'er,  may  know 

The  universe  brought  him  to  land. 
Who  sets  his  foot  in  law's  firm  track 
The  whole  great  world  is  at  his  back. 


EGOTISM 

AID  he,  "  I'll  follow  my  own  way  : 

My  whims  shall  be  my  laws  and  guides." 
But  he  forgot  the  universe 

On  every  question  taketh  sides. 

And,  when  the  mighty  engine  hurled 
His  broken  fortunes  from  the  rail, 

He  found  one  will  against  God's  world 
Sure  but  of  one  thing, —  //  must  fail. 


164  POT-POURRI 


DEBT  TO  THE  PAST 

T  SEE  so  far  because  I  stand 
•*•      Upon  the  shoulders  of  the  Past. 
Balboa  first  Pacific  scanned, 
Because  he  first,  of  all  his  band, 
Dared  climb  the  peak  that  could  command 
That  view  of  ocean  vast. 


A  LEGAL  MAXIM 

A     SHIRT-SLEEVKD  mechanic  once  uttered  the 

**  saw, — 

Just  out  of  the  court,  it  was  dropped  on  the  street, 
When  from  a  rich  man  he  had  suffered  defeat, — 

"  He  that  has  the  most  money  can  get  the  most  law  !  " 


JUSTICE  PEEPING 

T  T  was  found  that  the  statue  of  Justice  one  day 
•^      Had  pushed  up  the  bandage  from  over  one  eye. 
What  for  ?    To  keep  watch  of  the  lawyers,  some  say  ; 
But  some,  that  she  might  the  poor  clients  descry. 


THE   VIRTUES   OF   "FIAT"  165 


THE  VIRTUES  OF  "FIAT" 

T  T  OW  many  legs,"  a  wag  once  said, 
1  J.      "  Would  my  dog  have,  if  you  should  call 
His  tail  a  leg  ?     Now  add  them  up  ; 
How  many  would  he  have  in  all  ?  " 

"  Why,  five  of  course,"  the  man  replied  : 

The  wag  laughed  loud,  "  Why,  don't  you  know 

That,  though  you  call  a  tail  a  leg, 
The  calling  wouldn't  make  it  so  ?  " 

A  joke* our  man  could  never  see; 

And,  when  he  was  to  Congress  sent, 
He  soon  devised  a  mighty  scheme 

That  should  enrich  the  continent. 

He  said,  "  If  eighty-seven  cents 
Were  called  a  hundred  ;  and,  if  we 

Should  say  that  paper's  good  as  gold, 
Why,  then,  how  rich  the  country'd  be  !  " 

Then  all  the  statesmen  took  it  up, 

Astonished  at  the  wisdom  rare  ! 
They  voted  rascals  honest  men, 

And  all  the  ugly  women  fair. 


1 66  POT-POURRI 


MONOPOLISTS 

'  *T^WAS  a  reformer,  wild  of  eye, 

•••       Who  shrieked,  "  Down  with  monopoly  ! 

"The  vampires,  Gould  and  Vanderbilt, 
Have  all  the  people's  life-blood  spilt !  " 

Said  then  a  quiet-looking  man, 

"  Suppose  they  use  up  all  they  can, — 

"  Eat  up,  wear  out,  and  give  away, 
Or  waste  on  personal  display  : 

"  'Tis  then  but  little  of  the  whole 
They  spend,  of  all  which  they  control. 

"  The  rest,  nine-tenths  at  least,  they  must 
But  for  the  public  hold  in  trust. 

"To  serve  mankind  they  must  consent, 
Or  go  without  their  six  per  cent. 

"  The  railroads,  telegraphs,  and  all 
Must  serve  the  public,  or  they  fall. 


A   ROSE  167 

"  So,  whether  men  be  bad  or  good, 
They  cannot  help  it,  if  they  would. 

"  To  keep  their  money  and  to  earn, 

The  public  wheels  their  wealth  must  turn. 

"  If  any  man  serve  but  himself 
And  seek  to  multiply  his  pelf, 

"  That  he  in  this  should  e'er  succeed, 
He  must  supply  some  human  need. 

"  'Tis  thus  we're  linked  together  all, 
And  all  must  stand  or  all  must  fall. 

"  A  miser  hoards ;  but  just  to  find 
He's  built  a  cistern  for  mankind." 


A  ROSE 

'HP IS  the  rose's  own  beauty  that  makes  it  a  rose, 
•*•       Not  the  rich  one  who  owns  it,  nor  pot  where 

it  grows. 

If  odor  and  tinting  be  missing,  who  cares 
What  garden  it  cumbers  or  what  name  it  wears  ? 


1 68  POT-POURRI 


A  RICH  MAN 

A    HUGE  pile  of  wealth, 
*>     And  a  mansion  that's  fine  ; 
But  gone  is  his  health, 
And  his  dreamings  divine 

Are  far  back  in  youth. 

He  has  given  away 
His  faith  in  man's  truth  ; 

And,  for  many  a  day, 

His  power  to  feel 

Earth's  wonder  and  glory, 
And  what  they  reveal, 

Has  become  an  old  story. 

For  money,  he's  sold 

Both  his  heart  and  his  brain  : 
Is  it  strange  a  small  part 

Of  the  man  should  remain  ? 


POLITICS  (69 


POLITICS 

T  I  TE'VE  grabbed  at  the  money, 
^  •       And  fought  for  the  places  ; 
'Gainst  the  work  of  reformers, 
We've  set  our  firm  faces. 

We've  helped  our  friends  always, 

At  duty  we've  scouted  ; 
The  gullible  voters 

We  never  have  doubted. 

So  now  in  fine  harbors 

Of  profit  we're  resting, 
While  the  poor  fools  of  duty 

The  ebb  tide  are  breasting. 

The  moral  is  welcome 

To  whoe'er  will  use  it : 
If  voters  don't  like  it, 

Then  they  must  not  choose  it. 


170  POT-POUKRI 


A  QUERY 


A"  LOVE  of  a  bonnet  "  and  elegant  gloves, 
And  such  a  dear,  sweet,  pretty  shawl  ! 
They  chatter  and  whisper  and  flutter  in  droves  ; 
But  how  many  women  in  all  ? 


MEMBERS  ONE  OF  ANOTHER 


slums,  where  foul  diseases  hide, 
The  free  winds  travel  far  and  wide. 


The  rich  man  living  on  the  square 
Throws  wide  his  windows  for  the  air. 

His  petted  child,  with  every  breath, 
Drinks  in  the  viewless  seeds  of  death. 

The  rich  man,  bowed  down  by  his  woe, 
Wonders  why  God  should  send  the  blow. 

The  parson  wonders  too,  and  prays, 
And  talks  of  "  God's  mysterious  ways." 


"AS  DOVES   TO   THEIR   WINDOWS"  I "Jl 

But  know,  O  man  of  high  estate, 

You're  bound  up  with  the  poor  man's  fate. 

The  winds  that  enter  at  your  door 
Have  crept  across  his  attic  floor. 

If  you  would  have  "  all  well  "  with  you, 
Then  must  you  seek  his  welfare  too. 

If  even  selfishness  were  wise, 
It  would  no  other  life  despise. 


"  AS  DOVES  TO  THEIR  WINDOWS  " 

(Calculated for  the  Latitude  of  San  Francisco} 

said  the  Chinamen  at  last 
Are  turning  Christian.     If  it's  true, 
Their  meek,  submissive  days  are  past, 
And  "  Hoodlums  "  yet  may  get  their  due. 

For,  if  our  virtues  they  embrace, 

And  our  sweet  gospel  come  to  know, 

Brickbats  will  prove  their  Christian  grace, 
And  broken  heads  their  virtue  show. 


172  I'OT-POURRI 


COMPENSATION 

T  HEARD  a  voice  complaining, 
•*•      "  Man  is  to  sorrow  born  : 
No  rose  in  any  garden 

But  hides  a  piercing  thorn  !  " 

Then  one  bowed  down  by  sorrow, 
And  bruised  by  fortune's  blows, 

Through  tears  made  answer  smiling, 
"  No  thorn  but  has  its  rose!" 


F.  J.  S. 

T  SOUGHT  the  year  all  through, 

From  June  clear  round  to  May, 
To  find  some  flower  fair, 
That  would  not  fade  away. 

None  was  in  all  the  fields  ; 

But  there's  a  sheltered  spot 
Within  the  loving  heart 

Where  blooms  Forget-me-not. 


HAWK   <fe   CO.  173 


HAWK  &  CO. 

T  UST  after  his  savory  dinner  one  day, 
J      A  prosperous  hawk  flew  over  the  wood  : 
There  clung  to  his  claws,  as  he  floated  away, 
A  sparrow's  remains  of  feathers  and  blood. 

A  merchant,  out  hunting,  observed  his  career, — 
A  prosperous  merchant  as  any  in  town  : 

He  saw  all  the  little  birds  crouching  in  fear, 
And  on  his  brow  gathered  an  ominous  frown. 

He  lifted  his  gun  with  carefullest  aim, 

And  said  :  "  My  fine  fellow,  your  play's  at  an  end. 
The  gods  still  are  just :  it's  your  turn  to  be  game, 

Who  eat  up  the  weak  and  the  mighty  befriend." 

But,  when  the  gun  missed,  the  hawk  took  his  turn. 

Said  he,  "  Mr.  Merchant,  I've  something  to  say : 
I  gobble  up  only  what  beak  and  claws  earn  ; 

And  that  is  what  you  fellows  do  every  day." 

The  merchant  reflected,  and  said  :  "  I  am  wrong  : 
We'll  make  a  new  partnership  here,  you  and  I. 

The  small  birds  shall  flutter  when  we  come  along ; 
Or,  when  they  are  caught,  the  feathers  shall  fly." 


174  POT-POURRI 

And  so  it  fell  out  that  the  hawk  had  a  nest 

In  which  he  grew  saucier  every  day ; 
And  the  parson  remarked  how  "  Providence  blessed 

The  merchant's  grand  mansion  out  on  the  Back 
Bay." 

And  over  his  counting-room  door,  in  a  frame, 
The  merchant  had  posted,  where  all  men  might  see, 

This  motto  in  gilt,  just  under  his  name, — 
"  Honesty's  ever  the  best  policy." 


HEART  AND  BRAIN 

«  T^HE  truest  wisdom's  ever  of  the  heart : 

•*     The  generous  impulse  finds  the  way  all  plain." 
Then  life  mistook  in  wasting  such  rare  art 

Through  age-long  building  of  the  wondrous  brain. 


SCHOPENHAUER 

«  HPHIS  world's  the  worst  conceivable!"  he  said. 

•••     But,  O  philosopher,  pray  tell  me  where 
You  found  your  plummet, —  good, —  the  measuring 

lead 
With  which  you  sound  the  depths  of  your  despair  ? 


CHRISTIAN   CHARITY   FOR   THE  JEW  175 


CHRISTIAN  CHARITY  FOR  THE  JEW 

A    CHRISTIAN  sailor  beat  a  Jew  • 
**•     And,  while  he  pommelled  him,  he  cried 
"  I'll  pound  your  body  black  and  blue, 
For  our  dear  Lord  you  crucified  !  " 

But,  when  the  Jew  recovered  breath, 
Said  he,  "  My  friend,  do  you  not  know 

That  Jesus  Christ  was  put  to  death 
Some  eighteen  hundred  years  ago  ? " 

The  Christian  dealt  another  blow, 
And  answered  with  a  wrathful  shriek, 

"  I  care  not  how  long  'twas  ago  : 
I  only  heard  of  it  last  week  !  " 

In  this  fine  mirror  is  displayed 

The  Christian  charity  of  ages ; 
For  such  a  picture  is  portrayed 

Too  oft  on  history's  bloody  pages. 


POT-POURRI 

CIVIL  SERVICE  REFORM 

(More  Truth  than  Poetry) 

T 1  7E  send  a  man  to  Congress  ; 

*  *       And,  plain  as  words  can  say, 
We  tell  him,  "  Serve  the  party : 
Get  John  and  Mick  a  clerkship, 
Raise  money  for  elections, 
Serve  all  things  but  the  country, 
And  you'll  in  Congress  stay" 

"  But  if,"  our  deeds  are  saying, — 
And  is  it  strange  men  hear  ?  — 

"  You're  faithful  to  your  duty, 

If  you  neglect  the  party, 

If  you  your  country  care  for, 

And  try  to  be  a  statesman, 

You'll  stay  at  home  next  year." 

'Tis  this  that  needs  reforming  ! 

Let  old  experience  speak  : 
If  you  would  have  men  faithful, 
It's  hardly  safe  to  pay  them 


CREEDS  177 

With  bribes  for  your  betrayal. 
They  your  example  follow, 
When  interest  they  seek. 

Put  not  plain  human  nature 

To  too  severe  a  test. 
You  all  are  daily  seeking 
For  profit  and  for  honor. 
A  virtue  that  you  scout  at 
Demand  not  of  your  neighbor, — 

Make  duty  interest. 


CREEDS 

<  T  HAVE  no  creed  :  I  seek  but  to  be  good. 

Fools  only  o'er  opinions  are  at  strife  : 
The  problem  of  the  things  not  understood 
Is  solved  by  him  who  leads  a  noble  life." 

Granted,  O  wise  one  !  but  now  tell  me  how 
The  sailor  finds  the  right  way  o'er  the  sea 

Till  compass  teaches  where  to  point  the  prow, 
And  in  his  chart  he  reads  his  theorv  ? 


1 78  POT-POURRI 


THE  KING  AND  THE  JACKASS 

(A  Story  with  an  Applicatio>i) 

T  N  the  good  old  times,  as  most  men  view  it,- 
•*•     Though  I  could  ne'er  see  how  they  do  it,- 
When  Wisdom  begged  at  Riches'  gate, 
And  hardly  then  got  what  she  ate, 
A  certain  king  kept  at  his  court 
A  philosopher  to  aid  his  sport, 
And,  when  he  would  a  hunting  go, 
To  tell  him  if  'twould  rain  or  no. 

One  day,  with  promise  of  fine  weather, 
The  king  and  courtiers  ride  together, 
With  knights  and  ladies, —  a  gay  band, — 
And  each  with  hooded  hawk  on  hand. 
By  chance,  they  meet  a  country  John 
Riding  a  dappled  ass  upon, 
Who  warned  them  by  his  donkey's  ears 
'Twas  going  to  rain  ;  but  the  ready  jeers 
Of  th'  eagei  hunters  cried  him  down, — 
A  sage  is  wisei  than  n  clown  ! 
But  they  had  hardly  reached  the  wood 
When  all  were  drenched  by  the  pouring  flood. 


A   TRUE  TALE   FROM   ITALY  179 

The  king  rode  back  with  wrathful  look, 
Till  he  the  countryman  o'ertook ; 
And,  learning  the  wisdom  of  the  ass 
Whose  ears  foretold  what  came  to  pass, 
Turned  the  philosopher  out  in  disgrace, 
And  put  th'  intellectual  ass  in  his  place. 

Moral 

Oh,  could  he  have  known  the  fruits  of  his  deed, 
Of  so  rash  an  act  he'd  have  taken  more  heed ! 
The  result  of  his  making  high  places  a  scoff  is  — 
Every  ass  in  creation  is  seeking  for  office. 


A  TRUE  TALE  FROM  ITALY 

T_T  E  asked  a  priest,  "  Do  you  believe  all  true 

-*•  -*•  You  teach  the  people  ? "  "  Oh,  dear,  no ! "  said  he : 

"  But  then  'twould  never  do  to  speak,  you  see  ; 
For,  though  we  don't  believe,  the  people  do ! " 

He  asked  one  of  these  people  what  he  thought : 
"  Do  you  believe  all  priests  say,  to  the  letter  ?  " 
"  Oh,  no  !  \ve  are  not  fools  ;  and  we  know  better. 

The  priests  believe,  for  that  is  all  they're  taught ! " 


l8o  POT-POURRI 


WOMAN'S  TEARS 

JUSTICE,  they  say,  is  always  blind. 
J      That  may  be,  but  she  hears  ; 
For  ever  are  her  scales  inclined 
By  woman's  sighs  and  tears. 

A  woman's  always  in  the  wrong 

Until  she  cries  ;  and  then 
The  weakest  cause  is  straightway  strong, 

And  there's  no  hope  for  men. 


M 


WOMAN'S  POWER 

I 
EN  say  of  women  what  they  like, 

And  talk  like  victors  grand  ; 
But  see  them  bend  and  sue  for  peace, 
When  woman  waves  her  hand  ! 

II 
No  peasant  howe'er  lowly, 

No  monarch  howe'er  high, 
But  he  has  bowed  at  woman's  foot 

To  hear  his  destiny. 


WISDOM   AND   BEAUTY  l8l 


WISDOM  AND  BEAUTY 

HPHESE  sweet-lipped  women  rule  the  world  : 

•*•       For,  howe'er  men  may  teach, 
Their  beauty  thrills  a  million  souls 
Man's  wisdom  cannot  reach. 


WRECKED 

THE  sailor  looked  upon  her  lips 
And  rows  of  teeth  half-hid  inside. 
"  A  sailor's  fate,  though  stanch  his  ships,- 
Wrecked  on  the  coral  reefs  /"  he  cried. 


MAN'S  CRITIC 

T  T  OWEVER  wise  a  man  may  be, 
•*•  •*•      So  long  as  he  is  only  human, 
He  may  not  trust  his  destiny 
Till  criticised  by  some  true  woman. 


1 82  POT-POURRI 


LOVE'S  DREAM 

A    FAIR,  sweet  face  in  a  bonnet, 
**     An  eye-glance  that  like  a  star  gleams,- 
And  straight  sing  our  fancies  a  sonnet 
That  builds  up  a  palace  of  dreams. 


CONQUERING  THE  CONQUEROR 

TV /T  AN  put  the  world  he  conquered  'neath  his  feet, 
•*•»•*•     Then,  as  a  slave,  before  a  woman  knelt : 
Nor  was  the  joy  of  conquest  half  so  sweet 
As  that  which  from  her  tyranny  he  felt. 


MRS.  POYSER  ON  WOMEN 


'T~VHE  women  all  are  witless  !  "  thus  he  cried  : 

-*•       "  I've  said  it  often,  and  I  say  't  again." 
"  I'm  quite  of  your  opinion,"  she  replied  : 

"The  Almighty  made  'em  fools  to  match  the  men.'1 


AESTHETIC  PIETY  183 


AESTHETIC  PIETY 

A  FAIR  young  lady  was  in  deep  distress. 
I  sought  the  cause.     Said  she,  while  tears  did 

roll, 

"  I  cannot  go  to  church  :  shall  lose  my  soul : 
For  see  !  my  prayer-book  doesn't  match  my  dress !  " 


THE  PARROT  CREED 

was  a  parrot  that  had  learned  to  speak 
*•       The  language  of  a  tribe  that  ceased  to  be  ; 
And  thus  the  parrot's  words  became  "  all  Greek  " 
To  those  who  heard ;  but  ne'ertheless  did  he 

Still  chatter  on  with  zeal  that  did  not  wane. 

Who'd  keep  him  now  ?     At  last,  it  was  agreed 
A  wealthy  church  —  smile  not,  O  ye  profane  — 

Should  buy  him  to  repeat  for  them  the  creed. 


1 84  KH'-i'Ol'KKl 


PROVIDENCE 

IS  Providence  that  took  the  child  away  : 
•*•       You  must  submit  in  patience  to  his  la\vs.M 
Rather  is  this  the  thing  that  you  should  say, — 
"  Rise  up ;  learn  better,  and  remove  the  cause  !  '' 

Insult  not  Providence,  nor  God  accuse 
For  ignorance  and  carelessness  your  own 

If  you  t'  ignore  life's  fair  conditions  choose, 
Bring  no  complaint  before  the  all-loving  throne. 

Your  self-indulgence  and  your  idleness, 

Your  own  neglect  the  laws  of  health  t'  obey, — 

These  are  the  seed  of  your  life-long  distress, 
And  these  the  fountain  of  your  tears  to-day. 

Not  always  :  for  some  other  may  have  sown 

This  seed  whose  bitter  fruit  grew  while  you  slept 

But  God  is  just ;  and,  at  the  last,  your  own  — 
Only  what  you  have  planted  —  shall  be  reapt. 


FORTUNE  185 


FORTUNE 

A     FAIR  and  stately  china  vase, 
**•     With  choicest  flowers  fragrant, 
Sneered  at  an  earthen  jar,  as  base, 
Declaring  it  a  vagrant. 

The  jar,  with  modest  mien,  replied, 
"  The  virtue  thou  art  rich  in 

Might  suffer,  spite  of  parlor  pride, 
Wert  thou  but  in  the  kitchen." 


DEATH  WIPES  THE  SLATE 

IV  T  IL  de  mortuis  nisi  bonum." 
•*•  ^      While  such  saws  keep  their  station, 
A  fig  for  sins  !  who  would  bemoan  'em  ? 
They  hurt  no  reputation. 


TIMES 

IT    SHALL    BE 

Christmas,  1875. 

T  T  was  a  glorious  dream  men  had, 
•••      That  God  should  come  to  earth  some  day, 
And,  re-creating  all  things  new, 
Should  sweep  the  evil  past  away. 

And  beauteous  they  shaped  their  dream, — 

The  angel  heralds  in  the  sky, 
The  wondering  shepherds,  and  the  star 

To  lead  them  where  the  babe  should  lie. 

The  past  was  darkness.     The  old  earth 
Had  travailed  long  in  tears  and  pain  ; 

But,  when  He  comes,  the  light  shall  break, 
And  heaven  shall  dwell  on  earth  again. 

The  world,  so  long  accurst,  shall  bloom 

A  garden  fair  as  paradise  ; 
Thistles  and  thorns  shall  disappear, 

And  only  wholesome  plants  arise. 


IT   SHALL   HE  187 

The  shivering  figures  of  the  poor 

Shall  crouch  in  cold  and  want  no  more ; 

Plenty  shall  smile  on  every  home, 
And  joy  look  out  at  every  door. 

Fierce  enmity  and  strife  shall  die, 

The  old-time  curse  of  war  shall  cease, 

The  struggles  of  mankind  shall  be 
The  helpful  rivalries  of  peace. 

The  age-long  achings  of  the  heart, 
The  scalding  tears  that  blind  the  eye, 

The  blighted  hopes,  the  boding  fears, — • 
All  sorrows  shall  be  then  passed  by ; 

For  death  itself,  the  crudest 

Of  all  the  ills  that  curse  the  race, 

Shall  be  abolished,  and  sweet  life, 
The  life  immortal,  take  its  place. 

This  was  the  dream,  a  vision  sweet, 
That  lured  the  childhood  of  the  earth, 

As,  toiling  up  the  centuries, 

It  waited  for  the  wondrous  birth. 

And  as  each  morning's  vision  fled, 

Still  fading  into  common  day, 
Footsore  and  weeping,  on  they  went, 

Still  looking  for  it  far  away. 


1 88  TIMES 

And  it  shall  be.     It  may  not  come 

As  pointed  by  the  Bethlehem  star, 
Nor  as  the  thought  of  any  seer 

Has  shaped  the  vision  seen  afar. 

But  God,  who  hides  the  mighty  oak 

Close  wrapped  in  tiny  acorn-shell, 
While  the  slow  process  of  the  suns 

Unfolds  the  seed,  and  does  it  well, — 

He  holds,  deep  hidden  in  the  heart 

Of  the  unfolding  universe, 
A  blessing  that  no  stress  of  doubt 

Shall  e'er  persuade  us  is  a  curse. 

Let  clouds  of  sorrow  shade  the  seed, 

Let  it  be  watered  long  by  tears, 
Let  rough  winds  rock  it  to  and  fro, 

Let  fall  the  dead  leaves  through  the  years ; 

Still  God  is  in  it,  and  it  grows. 

Some  day,  beneath  a  fairer  sky, 
"  New  earth  "  shall  greet  "  new  heavens,"  and  make 

A  new  home  for  humanity. 

Earth  shall  be  fair  as  Eden  lost, 

Each  night  shall  chase  a  gladder  day, 

Joy  shall  drive  sorrow  from  the  earth, 
And  evil  shall  have  passed  away. 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  NEW  YEAR,  1 876 

This  is  the  Christmas  hope,  howe'er 
Men  try  to  shape  the  dream  they  see, 

Whether,  as  Grecian  golden  age 
Or  kingdom  new  in  Galilee. 

If  we  would  have  the  vision  true, 

We  must  not  rest  in  dreams  ;  for,  when 

We  all  are  Christlike,  then  will  come 
The  "peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men." 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  NEW  YEAR,   1876 
A  Vision 

T  N  wondering  dream,  before  my  face 
-*-      I  saw  a  massive  wall  arise, 
As  old  as  time,  as  wide  as  space, 

And  high  as  are  the  star-strewn  skies. 

And  while  I  marvelled  what  it  meant, 
And  what  lay  on  the  other  side, 

I  saw  an  age-worn  arch  that  bent 
Above  a  gateway  opened  wide. 

And  on  the  arch's  front  I  read, 
"  Each  traveller  who  enters  here 

Finds  what  he  pleases,  stones  or  bread: 
I  am  the  gateway  of  the  year." 


190  TIMES 

An  ancient  man  drew  near  me  then, 

And  said :  "  Look  through,  and  think  and  choose. 
The  past  is  past ;  but  once  again 

You  may  accept  or  may  refuse. 

"  Before  you  shall  in  vision  pass 

The  new  year's  possibilities  : 
And  you  shall  see  as  in  a  glass 

The  shapes  of  good  and  ill  arise." 

I  looked ;  and,  lo  !  a  battle-field 

And  burning  homes  and  death  and  tears ; 

And  all  for  glory  that  might  yield 
One  man  a  throne  above  his  peers. 

This  passed,  and  in  its  place  there  rushed 

A  motley,  pleasure-seeking  throng. 
For  passion's  fruits  they  grasped  and  pushed, 

Or  filled  the  scene  with  dance  and  song. 

And,  next,  a  market-place  upsprung, 
And  each  man  with  his  fellow  strove 

To  gain  and  keep,  with  fist  and  tongue, 
As  if  he'd  never  heard  of  love. 

A  change,  and  now  a  house  appeared 
In  which  peace  dwelt,  and  every  joy ; 

Duty  and  love  together  reared 
A  home  all  gold,  with  no  alloy. 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  NEW  YEAR,  1876 

And,  next,  a  poor,  bare  room,  wherein 
One  sick  I  saw,  and  groans  I  heard ; 

But  to  the  place  of  rags  and  sin 

One  came  with  cheer,  and  ministered. 

This  faded ;  and  a  childish  group 
Of  squalid  ignorance  was  seen, 

And  with  them  one  who  seemed  to  stoop 
To  teach  them,  and  to  make  them  clean. 

And  here  was  one  who  made  a  place 
For  selfish  pleasure  and  delight : 

And  there  was  one  who  sought  to  trace 
God's  pathway  of  the  true  and  right. 

And,  while  I  wondered  and  stood  still, 
The  ancient  man  approached  again, 

And  said :  "  O  son,  choose  which  you  will, 
To  help  or  hurt  your  fellow-men. 

"  Fame,  pleasure,  money, —  all  are  there  ; 

And  there,  too,  love  and  duty.     Wait 
Until  their  claims  you  can  compare 

Here  at  the  threshold  of  the  gate. 

"And  then,  with  firm  foot  and  brave  heart, 
Fear  not  to  enter  the  unknown  ; 

For  he  who  chose  the  nobler  part 
Ne'er  entered  on  his  task  alone." 


\<)2  TIMES 

I  said,  "  P II follow  duty  "  ;  and  the  word 
Was  hardly  uttered  in  the  air 

When  music  everywhere  I  heard, 
And  beauty  I  saw  everywhere. 

And  so  I  entered  on  the  year. 

And,  though  not  always  understood, 
Both  cloud  and  sunshine,  hope  and  fear, 

Were  bidden  to  work  all  for  good. 


WHEN  WILL  HE  COME 

Christmas,  1877 

\\ J HEN  will  he  come? 
^  *       The  ancient  Hindu  races  say 
That,  when  the  nation  falls  away, 
Help  will  shine  out  like  a  star ; 
That  when  some  giant,  demon,  devil, 
The  people  overwhelms  in  evil, 
Then  comes  Vishnu's  Avatar. 
Nine  times  already  has  he  come  to  earth. 
Ten  times, —  and  then  the  perfect  world  has  birth. 


WHEN   WILL   HE   COME  193 

When  will  he  come  ? 
A  captive  nation  dwells  upon 
The  river-banks  of  Babylon. 

What  is  the  word  they  speak  ? 
The  prophet's  eye  looks  down  the  years, 
And  kindles  as  the  sight  appears, — 

"  Messiah  !  him  ye  seek. 
Lo,  the  Lord's  anointed  comes !  and  then 
Shall  dwell  the  heavenly  kingdom  among  men.'* 

When  will  he  come  ? 
The  Christian  answers  :  "  Long  ago 
The  king  was  born  in  manger  low. 

Him  wicked  men  have  slain. 
And  now  we  wait  with  longing  eye, 
And  fix  our  look  upon  the  sky; 

For  he  will  come  again. 
We  pray  and  watch  since  he  has  gone  away ; 
For,  when  he  comes,  he'll  bring  the  perfect  day." 

When  will  he  come  ? 
This  is  the  old  world's  weary  cry. 
Is  man  forgotten  in  the  sky  ? 

How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long ! 
Hunger,  disease,  and  tears  and  pain 
We  plead  against,  and  plead  in  vain, — 

The  weak  against  the  strong. 
The  fathers  wait  and  hope,  then  fall  asleep ; 
And  still  its  death-strewn  way  the  world  doth  keep. 


194  TIMES 

When  will  he  come  ? 
Say  not  that  he  will  never  come  ; 
Say  not  the  piteous  heavens  are  dumb. 

Deaf  have  ye  been  and  blind. 
He  will  not  come  through  opening  sky ; 
Ye  shall  not  hear  a  victor's  cry, 

Nor  chariot  on  the  wind. 
From  mythic  dreams  and  idle  visions  wake  ! 
Your  fancies  falsify  the  word  God  spake. 

When  will  he  come  ? 

"  Lo,  here  !  Lo,  there  !  "  the  foolish  shout, 
And  think  that  God  will  come  without, 

But  ever  has  it  been, 
In  spite  of  fabled  tales  that  tell 
Of  magic  and  of  miracle, 

That  he  has  come  within. 
Only  through  man,  and  man  alone, 
Does  God  build  up  his  righteous  throne. 

When  will  he  come  ? 
In  times  and  places  manifold, 
He  has  been  coming  from  of  old, — 

God  in  the  leading  men. 
When  man  broke  loose  from  bestial  bands, 
First  stood  upright  and  used  his  hands, 

The  heavenly  light  broke  then. 
When  fire  was  kindled  first  upon  the  earth, 
Then  God  in  man  knew  still  a  higher  birth. 


WHEN   WILL   HE   COME  195 

When  will  he  come  ? 
When  iron  first  was  hammered  out ; 
When  far  shores  heard  the  seaman's  shout ; 

When  letters  first  were  known  ; 
When  separate  tribes  to  nations  grew  ; 
When  men  their  brotherhood  first  knew  ; 

When  law  first  reached  the  throne  : 
Each  separate  upward  step  that  man  has  trod 
Has  been  a  coming  of  the  living  God. 

When  will  he  come  ? 
While  you  are  looking  far  away, 
His  tireless  feet  are  nigh  to-day. 

Each  true  word  is  his  voice. 
All  honest  work,  all  noble  trust, 
Each  deed  that  lifts  man  from  the  dust, 

Each  pure  and  manly  choice, 
Each  upward  stair  man's  toil-worn  feet  do  climb. 
Is  just  another  birth  of  God  sublime. 

When  will  he  come  ? 
He'll  come  to-morrow,  if  you  will  ; 
But  cease  your  idle  sitting  still. 

Yes,  he  will  come  to-day. 
He  will  not  come  in  clouds,  but  through 
Your  doing  all  that  you  can  do 

To  help  the  right  alway. 
Do  honest  work,  and  to  the  truth  be  true, 
And  God  already  has  appeared  in  you. 


196  TIMES 


FACING  THE  UNKNOWN 

New  Year,  1877 

NEW  YEAR,  New  Year,  tell  me  true, 
What  wilt  them  bring  to  me, — 
Bring  to  me  out  of  the  heavens  blue. 
Where  thy  bright  home  must  be  ? 

Thou  comest,  godlike,  in  a  cloud  : 

I  cannot  see  thy  form  ; 
Is't  sunshine  that  the  mists  enshroud. 

Or  lurketh  there  a  storm  ? 

I  stretch  my  hands  out  unto  thee  ; 

Oh,  speak  to  me  and  say ! 
I'd  know  what  things  shall  come  to  me 

Along  this  untrod  way. 

The  old  year  gave  me  buds  to  hold  ; 

And  while  I  tended  them, 
And  watched  to  see  the  flowers  unfold, 

They  faded  on  the  stein. 

She  whispered  promises  so  fair 

They  drove  away  all  fears  ; 
But  clouds  drank  up  the  sunny  air, 

And  dripped  in  rainy  tears. 


FACING  THE   UNKNOWN  197 

She  took  me  up  on  vision  heights, 

And  showed  a  prospect  sweet ; 
But  I  have  stumbled  through  the  nights 

With  weary,  bleeding  feet. 

So  tell  me,  New  Year,  what's  to  be 

Upon  each  new  to-morrow. 
Shall  my  bright  hopes  abide  with  me, 

Or  change  to  shapes  of  sorrow  ? 

A  low-voiced  wind  came  whispering 

From  out  the  mystery  : 
"  I  am  the  New  Year,  and  I  bring 

That  which  is  given  to  me. 

"  Thou  livest  not  alone  for  joy, 

Or  but  to  gather  flowers. 
Lament  not,  then,  what  storms  destroy, 

Nor  chide  the  dark-winged  hours. 

"Through  cloud  and  sun  and  dripping  rain 

The  Year  her  garment  weaves, 
And  clothes  the  earth  with  golden  grain 

And  decks  with  autumn  leaves. 

"  And  all  the  mingled  days  conspire 

To  make  her  work  complete. 
Even  discords  tremble  on  her  lyre 

To  make  the  song  more  sweet. 


198  TIMES 

"  Not  what  thou  hast,  but  what  thou  art, 
And  what  thou  yet  shalt  be  : 

Each  year  is  but  a  verse,  a  part 
Of  life's  full  poesy. 

"  The  minor  mingles  with  the  gay  ; 

And,  when  the  song  is  done, 
Thou'lt  see  how  each  its  part  did  play 

To  make  the  poem  one. 

"  Then  ask  not  what's  ahead  of  thee, 

Each  day  thy  part  fulfil  ; 
Be  sure  that  thy  life's  mystery 

Obeys  a  higher  will. 

"  'Tis  love  that  in  the  darkness  leads  ; 

My  face  thou  may'st  not  see  ; 
It  is  enough  for  all  thy  needs 

That  thou  do  follow  me." 


THE   UNUISCOVEKEU  199 


THE  UNDISCOVERED 
New  Year,  1878 

A  CROSS  the  bare  fields,  through  the  night, 
**     On  cold  winds  desolately  sighing, 
From  the  far  east  where  stars  are  bright, 
To  be  revealed  with  morning's  light, 
The  young  New  Year  comes  flying. 
New  Year,  by  darkness  hovered, 
What  new  songs  will  you  sing  me? 
What  new  gifts  will  you  bring  me 
From  out  the  undiscovered  ? 

Rare  things  the  Old  Year  took  away 

To  hold  forever  in  his  keeping : 
Hopes  that  I  thought  would  bloom  some  day ; 
Children  that  round  my  knees  did  play ; 
In  his  cold  arms  they  now  are  sleeping. 
New  Year,  by  darkness  hovered, 
Can  you  bring  back  to  me 
Those  hopes,  that  childish  glee, 
From  out  the  undiscovered? 


200  TIMES 

I  had  a  heart  all  innocent; 

The  robes  I  wore  were  clean  and  white ; 
But  now  my  robe  is  soiled  and  rent ; 
My  heart  is  sad,  while  I  lament 

The  chosen  wrong,  the  slighted  right. 
New  Year,  by  darkness  hovered, 
The  lost  peace  I  deplore 
Can  you  bring  back  once  more 
From  out  the  undiscovered  ? 

The  Old  Year's  skies  were  very  fair  : 

Its  flowers  and  grasses  fresh  and  sweet ; 
Its  summer  clouds,  its  sunsets  rare, 
Its  song-birds  carolling  in  air, 

Its  children  shouting  round  my  feet, — 
New  Year,  by  darkness  hovered, 
In  the  new  dawns  that  rise, 
Will  you  bring  fairer  skies 
From  out  the  undiscovered  ? 

The  Old  Year  gave  me  books,  and  "thought 

That  wanders  through  eternity  "  ; 
It  gave  me  human  love,  that  brought 
A  message  straight  from  God,  and  taught 
My  soul  what  heaven  itself  might  be. 
New  Year,  by  darkness  hovered, 
A  truer  love,  I  know, 
You  have  not  to  bestow 
In  all  the  undiscovered. 


THE   CHRISTMAS    HOPE  2OI 

I'm  glad  your  face  I  cannot  see ; 

I  bid  you  welcome  without  fear ; 
Whate'er  your  secret  gift  may  be, 
My  Father's  hand  hath  sent  it  me  : 
1  take  it,  be  it  smile  or  tear. 

New  Year,  by  darkness  hovered, 
I  would  not,  if  I  might, 
Know  what  you  hide  from  sight 
There  in  the  undiscovered. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  HOPE 
1880 

A    LITTLE  babe  came  to  its  mother's  arms, 
^~*-     And,  stretching  out  dainty  and  dimpled  palms, 
Bestowed  upon  her  woman's  proudest  honor, — 
The  halo  of  sweet  motherhood's  Madonna. 
For  each  new  baby  born  is  God's  own  child, 
As  much  as  he  on  Mary's  lap  who  smiled. 

What  was  it  he  in  tiny  hands  did  bring, 
To  prove  that  he  from  God's  own  skies  did  spring  ? 
He  brought  down  to  his  mother's  heart  again 
That  hope  that  never  yet  was  far  from  men, — 
The  Christmas  hope,  that  through  the  ages  long 
Leads  on  the  nations  with  its  luring  song. 


202  TIMES 

She  crooned  above  his  cradle  ;  and  alway 

She  dreamed,  as  mothers  do  dream  every  day. 

In  dream,  she  saw  him  grow  to  man's  estate, 

Her  heart  with  all  a  mother's  pride  elate. 

He  shone,  a  day-star,  in  his  noble  youth 

To  light  mankind  along  the  path  of  truth. 

He  was  a  leader ;  and,  with  life  athrill, 

His  followers  he  inspired  with  resolute  will ; 

Infected  all  with  voice  and  kindling  eye 

With  his  high  purpose  both  to  live  and  die. 

He  was  both  light  and  life ;   and  then  above 

Both  light  and  life  there  gleamed  a  wondrous  love, 

That  in  the  worthless  outcast  still  could  see 

What  was  not  yet, —  the  man  that  was  to  be. 

Thus  dreamed  the  mother  while  her  baby  slept ; 
And,  just  for  very  joy,  some  tears  she  wept. 
Her  son,  God's  son,  should  a  Messiah  be, 
And  help  to  set  the  groaning  nations  free  ! 
So  every  mother  dreams  above  her  boy, 
Her  good-will  glowing  in  her  mother's  joy. 

But  dreams  will  fade.     I  saw  this  mother  soon 

No  longer  o'er  the  swaying  cradle  croon  ; 

But,  with  heart-break  and  raining  eyes,  she  bowed 

Above  an  empty  crib  and  sobbed  aloud. 

The  light,  the  life,  the  love,  had  faded  quite, 

Like  the  aurora  of  a  winter's  night. 


THE   CHRISTMAS   HOPE  203 

Or,  harder  yet  than  death,  to  man's  estate 
He  came  at  last,  but  neither  good  nor  great. 
Or  yet  again,  what  happens  every  day, 
The  mother's  dream  divine  did  fade  away. 
Her  boy,  grown  man,  lived  out  his  common  days, 
And  helped,  a  little,  human  life  to  raise. 
The  world  was  better  that  he  lived  and  died, 
Though  he  fulfilled  not  what  was  prophesied. 

But  hopes  like  these,  what  if  they  often  are 

Like  the  blank  heaven,  from  which  has  fallen  a  star  ? 

Still  are  they  not  the  stars  that  lead  the  way 

On  toward  the  sunrise  of  the  better  day  ? 

These  hopes  and  dreams  of  nobler  things  to  be, 

Though  for  long  centuries  we  do  not  see 

The  dream  turned  into  fact,  they  lure  us  still 

Toward  the  kingdom  of  divine  Good-will. 

And  each  illusion  lost  but  goads  us  on  : 

Some  glad  day  yet  the  kingdom  shall  be  won ! 

In  old  crusading  days,  a  childhood  band 
Rushed  blindly  on  to  seek  the  Sacred  Land, 
And  wrest  from  grasp  of  pagan  infidel 
The  tomb  of  Christ.     'Tis  said  that  it  befell, 
Whenever  some  new  town  arose  in  sight, 
They  cried  out,  eager  in  their  glad  delight, — 
Trusting  no  more  of  toil  remained  for  them, — 
"  Now  are  we  there  ?     Is  this  Jerusalem  ? '' 


204  TIMES 

But,  like  a  fire  besieged  by  wind  and  rain, 

Though  almost  quencked,  their  courage  flamed  again. 

Still  on  they  marched  ;  and  every  distant  spire 

Kindled  fresh  hope,  and  fed  their  strong  desire. 

And,  though  the  city  yet  was  far  away, 

Each  new  town  lured  them  onward  day  by  day. 

This  is  the  Christmas  hope.     A  son  is  born, 

Who,  like  a  star  upon  the  front  of  morn, 

Is  herald  of  the  day  that  is  divine, — 

The  day  that  with  the  Perfect  Light  shall  shine. 

But  still  Messiah  dies,  and  hope  delays; 

Still  mankind  stumbles  over  darksome  ways. 

Disease  and  sorrow  and  despair  abide, 

As  though  no  Son  of  God  had  lived  or  died. 

The  way  is  weary ;  and  the  city  bright 

We  seek  so  long  is  still  beyond  our  sight. 

Once  more,  the  Christmas  bells  ring  on  the  air, 

And  with  their  music  drive  away  despair. 

The  hope-crowned  Christ-child  ever  comes  anew  ; 

One  day,  the  mother's  dream  shall  all  come  true. 

New  heavens,  new  earth !     Although  they  long  delay, 

'Tis  God  who  lures  us  on,  and  leads  the  way. 

And  each  illusion,  like  a  veil  withdrawn, 

Fades  like  a  cloud  but  to  reveal  the  dawn. 

A   morn   shall   surely  come  when  Christmas   bells 

shall  ring, 
Proclaiming  evil  dead,  and  man  the  glad  earth's  king. 


CONTRASTED  GREETINGS  2O5 


CONTRASTED  GREETINGS 

NEW  YEAR'S,  1880 

( A  lonely  life  speaks  ) 

T  WANT  no  New  Year,  for  I  face 
-*•      Each  coming  day  with  dread  : 
The  dear  old  lost  years  have  my  heart ; 
Oh,  give  me  back  my  dead  ! 

I  see  them  in  the  sunny  time 

Of  summers  long  ago, 
Ere  on  my  brow  the  wrinkles  came, 

Or  on  my  head  the  snow. 

I  shouted  "  Happy  New  Year  "  once, 

The  merriest  of  the  gay, 
And  strained  my  eager  eyes  to  see 

Along  life's  forward  way. 

For  song  and  flowers  and  love  led  on 
A  path  that  seemed  forever, 

And  joy  and  triumph  promised  then 
To  crown  my  least  endeavor. 


206  TIMES 

But  as  I  went  on,  one  by  one 

Flowers  withered,  songs  grew  still ; 

Loved  ones  sank  down  and  slept,  and  none 
Their  places  came  to  fill. 

No  new  years  then  for  me  !     I'd  give 
For  one  dear  year  that's  past 

All  that  the  future  promises, 
On  to  the  very  last. 

( Another  speaks ) 
A  Happy  New  Year  ?     Yes,  'tis  still 

A  happy  time  to  me, 
Though  morning's  light  is  far  behind, 

And  evening's  star  I  see. 

I  sit  here  in  my  easy  chair 
And  dream  the  old  days  over, 

My  childhood  where  the  robins  sang 
Above  the  fields  of  clover. 

'Twas  long  ago  ;  and  on  my  brow 

My  hair  is  getting  thin, 
Am  I  the  happy  girl  that  once 

A  lover  came  to  win  ? 

Did  children  come,  and  round  my  feet 

Prattle  and  coo  and  play  ? 
I  see  their  winsome  faces  yet 

As  if  'twere  yesterday. 


CONTRASTED   GREETINGS  2O7 

He  went ;  and  they, —  some  slept,  and  some 

Have  built  nests  of  their  own. 
They  loved  me ;  and  'tis  not  their  fault 

If  Grandma's  here  alone. 

The  past  was  full  of  good  :  no  power 

Can  take  that  past  away : 
I  keep  its  dear  ones  in  my  heart ; 

They  smile  on  me  to-day. 

( Time  speaks) 
A  power  not  myself  compels 

My  tireless,  age-long  flight : 
I  brush  the  morning  with  my  wings ; 

I  plunge  into  the  night. 

Forever  and  forevermore, 

I  hasten  on  my  way  ; 
And  unto  me  a  thousand  years 

Are  but  as  yesterday. 

I  am  the  maker  of  all  things, 

I  their  destroyer  too ; 
And  ever  from  the  crumbled  old 

I  build  me  something  new. 

I  watch  the  buds  burst  forth  in  spring, 

I  see  the  brown  leaves  fall ; 
And,  'neath  the  shelter  of  my  wings, 

I  love  and  keep  them  all. 


208  TIMES 

I  sorrow  for  the  griefs  of  men, 
Their  care  and  toil  and  tears  ; 

And,  if  I  could,  would  fain  hold  back 
The  onrush  of  the  years. 

But  nothing  precious  shall  be  lost, 

I  cast  no  good  away, 
I  only  hide  it  for  a  while, 

To  be  revealed  some  day. 

( The  voice  of  Faith) 
I  am  the  whisper  in  men's  hearts 

Of  better  things  to  be, 
The  eye  that  through  the  winter's  storm 

The  bloom  of  June  can  see. 

I  read  the  record  of  the  past ; 

I  study  long  gone  years, 
And  see  how  all  the  old  of  good 

Was  watered  with  salt  tears. 

I  see  how  always  from  decay 
Some  grander  good  has  sprung, 

How  over  fields  of  sore  defeat 
Have  shouts  of  triumph  rung. 

In  every  clod,  I  see  a  power 
That  struggles  toward  the  light ; 

And  over  every  prostrate  Wrong 
Springs  up  the  giant  Right. 


EASTER   BELLS  209 

From  all  the  past,  I  gather  strength 

To  face  the  coming  day. 
I  see  not,  yet  I  know  the  good 

Shall  triumph  and  make  way. 

"A  Happy  New  Year!  then,"  cries  Faith. 

The  good  time  comes  apace. 
Though  tarrying  long,  the  perfect  day 

Shall  dawn  for  all  the  race. 


EASTER  BELLS 

1880 

"D  ING,  Easter  bells,  from  earth  to  heaven  ! 
••^     Ring  down  from  heaven  to  earth  ! 
The  brightest  hopes  of  human  hearts 
Now  celebrate  their  birth  ! 

Ring,  Easter  bells,  from  golden  throats  ! 

Ring  all  your  meanings  out ! 
Roll  through  the  sky  your  liquid  notes, 

And  sweep  away  our  doubt. 

I  hear  them  from  that  far-off  dawn 
Where  man  lay  crouched  in  night : 

They  rung  the  hated  darkness  out, 
And  hailed  the  rising  Light ! 


TIMES 

I  hear  them  from  the  shivering  caves, 
Where,  fleeing  from  the  cold, 

Men  longed  and  waited  for  the  sun 
To  light  his  fires  of  gold. 

I  hear  them  ring  from  hill  to  hill, 
And  through  each  valley  wide, 

As  from  the  south  the  conquering  spring 
Buds  forth  on  every  side. 

They  ring,  these  gladsome  Easter  bells, 
In  green  leaf,  in  bright  flower ; 

They  toll  the  knell  of  winter's  death  ; 
They  chant  life's  conquering  power. 

I  hear  them  by  the  sacred  graves 
Where  weep  the  dews  of  even  ; 

From  skies  that  overarch  the  soul, 
They  ring  down  hopes  of  heaven. 

I  hear  them  from  Judea's  hills : 
The  grave  had  been  a  prison  ; 

But  hope  took  on  an  angel  form 
And  shouted,  "  Christ  has  risen  !  " 

No  longer  now  the  dead  go  down 

To  sheol,  hades,  sleep : 
They  live  and  think,  and  for  us  still 

Their  old-time  love  they  keep. 


EASTER   BELLS  211 

These  Easter  bells,  the  bells  of  hope, 

Though  age-long  wrongs  endure, 
I  hear  them  ring  a  coming  time 

Of  gladness  for  the  poor. 

Above  the  wail  of  sin  and  crime, 

The  discord  harsh  of  wrong, 
I  hear  the  babel  cries  attuned 

To  joyous  tones  of  song. 

Of  ugliness  transformed ;  of  hate 

Changed  into  love  ;  of  doubt 
Flowering  in  faith  ;  of  old  decay 

In  progress  blooming  out ; 

Of  every  evil  trampled  down, — 

Of  these  the  chorus  swells  ! 
"God's  kingdom  comes,  and  this  is  man's." 

Ring  out  the  Easter  bells  ! 

"  Light,  life,  and  joy  !     Light,  life,  and  joy  ! 

They'll  conquer  at  the  last. 
They'll  conquer,  conquer, —  light,  life,  joy!" 

Each  bell-tongue  echoes  fast. 

"God  lives!  truth  lives!  love  lives  !  lives!  lives!" 

This  message  each  tongue  tells. 
"Work,  then,  O  man !  and  thou  shalt  sing  !  " 

Ring  out  the  Easter  bells. 


212  TIMES 


THEN  ONLY? 
1881 

"I  I J  AS  it  only  in  Judea, 

*  *       Eighteen  hundred  years  ago, 
That  the  lord  of  earth  and  heaven 
Came  to  visit  men  below  ? 

True,  he  came  then  in  a  manhood 
That  was  blessed,  sweet,  and  strong, 

Teaching  broader  views  of  goodness 
And  a  deeper  scorn  of  wrong. 

But  to  say  that  once  and  only 
Came  he,  and  in  magic  wise, 

Is  to  slight  ///'  eternal  advent, 
Never  hid  from  holy  eyes. 

Not  alone  in  that  one  cradle 

In  the  far-off  Nazareth  ! 
God  speaks  straight  to  every  mother 

Through  the  baby's  lisping  breath. 

Calling  one  birth  only  sinless 
Casts  on  motherhood  a  .scorn  : 

Holy  are  the  thousand  chambers 

Where  the  infant  "Christs  "  are  born. 


THEN    ONLY  213 

Not  alone  in  one  grand  era 

Does  the  "  Blessed  One  "  come  near  : 
From  the  first  day  till  the  last  one, 

He  if  coming  every  year. 

In  the  "  mystery  of  matter," 

Through  the  ages  long  at  strife, 
God  was  in  what  men  call  lifeless, 

Struggling  upward  into  life. 

Up  the  dateless  ages  lifting, 

From  the  lowest  crawling  worm 
On  through  reptile,  fish,  and  mammal, 

Blossomed  he  from  form  to  form. 

Till  at  length  out  through  the  brutal, 

Like  a  sunrise  through  a  cloud, 
Waking,  wondering,  gleamed  the  human, 

And  a  voice  spoke  up  aloud. 

God  came  then  in  wondrous  fashion, 
When  his  great  man-child  had  birth  ; 

When,  erect,  he  faced  the  heavens, 
And  stood  conscious  on  the  earth. 

Every  age  since  then  was  Advent. 

Came  he  all  the  aeons  through, 
As  man  learned  the  art  of  thinking, 

And  achieved  the  power  to  do. 


214  TIMES 

Yes,  he  came  through  hidden  pathways, 
As  the  life  comes  in  the  spring, — 

Underground  in  silent  working 
Till  the  time  for  blossoming. 

When  man  tamed  the  stubborn  iron,  • 
And  to  flexile  uses  wrought ; 

And  phonetic  signs  invented 

To  become  the  wings  of  thought, — 

Then  in  truth  God  came  and  whispered, 
"  Be  thou  free  and  mighty  now  ! 

Rule  the  earth  with  iron  sceptre, 
All  its  powers  to  thee  shall  bow  ! 

"  Armed  with  letters,  go  thou  forward  ; 

To  all  doors,  thou  hast  the  key  ; 
Naught  on  earth  and  naught  in  heaven 
But  shall  open  unto  thee  !  " 

Thus,  God  cometh  up  the  ages, — 
Hear  on  battle-fields  his  call ! 

At  the  sound,  old  systems  tremble, 
Brain-bonds  snap,  and  shackles  fall. 

Through  the  rising  of  the  peoples, 
By  the  ships  whose  hearts  are  fires, 

On  the  trains  through  tunnelled  mountains, 
By  the  lightning-throbbing  wires, 


THEN    ONLY  215 

Through  the  patient  toil  of  science, 

Through  the  fairy  grace  of  art, 
Through  the  broader  range  of  thinking, 

Through  new  tenderness  of  heart, 

Evermore  is  godhood  coming, — 
Godhood  robed  in  human  guise, 

Hidden  from  the  backward  looking, 
But  revealed  unto  the  wise. 


No  more  then  on  human  nature, 

No  more  on  God's  glad,  green  earth, 

Dare  to  cast  contempt !     Remember 
Here  God's  kingdom  has  its  birth. 

Look  not  to  the  distant  heavens, 
Nor  to  east  nor  west ;  for,  lo  ! 

God  is  'neath  thy  feet,  and  cometh, 
Like  all  fair  growths,  from  below. 

In  the  beating  of  thy  pulses, 
In  the  throbbing  of  thy  brain, 

In  the  air  and  sunshine  round  thee, 
See,  he  comes,  and  comes  again  ! 

In  the  grand  ideal  that  leads  thee, 
In  fair  hopes  that  gleam  and  flee, 

In  the  ever-sought  to-morrow, 
Forward  still  he  beckons  thee  ! 


2l6  TIMES 

When  disease  and  want  and  sorrow 
Are  beneath  thy  gladsome  feet. 

When  are  broken  all  earth's  shackles, 
\Vhen  as  one  all  nations  meet, 

When  the  wide  earth  is  a  garden, 
When  love  driveth  out  all  hate, 

When  earth's  once  terrific  forces 
Like  trained  servants  on  thee  wait,- 

Then  the  God  who  through  the  ages 
Did  thy  toilsome  progress  lead, 

He  who  was  and  is  and  shall  be, 
Will  have  come  in  very  deed ! 


SORROW  AND    HOPE 


LIGHT  ON  THE  CLOUD 

* HERE'S  never  an  always  cloudless  sky, 
•*•       There's  never  a  vale  so  fair 
But  over  it  sometimes  shadows  lie 
In  a  chill  and  songless  air. 

But  never  a  cloud  o'erhung  the  day, 

And  flung  its  shadows  down, 
But  on  its  heaven-side  gleamed  some  ray, 

Forming  a  sunshine  crown. 

It  is  dark  on  only  the  downward  side  : 

Though  rage  the  tempest  loud, 
And  scatter  its  terrors  far  and  wide, 

There's  light  upon  the  cloud. 

And  often,  when  it  traileth  low, 

Shutting  the  landscape  out, 
And  only  the  chilly  east  winds  blow 

From  the  foggy  seas  of  doubt, 


2l8  SORROW   AND   HOPE 

There'll  come  a  time,  near  the  setting  sun, 
When  the  joys  of  life  seem  few, 

A  rift  will  break  in  the  evening  dun, 
And  the  golden  light  stream  through. 

And  the  soul  a  glorious  bridge  will  make 

Out  of  the  golden  bars, 
And  all  its  priceless  treasures  take 

Where  shine  the  eternal  stars. 


MYSTERY 

,  why  are  darkness  and  thick  cloud 
Wrapped  close  forever  round  the  throne  of 

God? 

Why  is  our  pathway  still  in  mystery  trod  ? 
None  answers,  though  we  call  aloud. 

The  seedlet  of  the  rose 

While  still  beneath  the  ground, 
Think  you  it  ever  knows 
The  mystery  profound 
Of  its  own  power  of  birth  and  bloom, 
Until  it  springs  above  its  tomb  ? 


MYSTERY  219 

The  caterpillar  crawls 

Its  mean  life  in  the  dust, 
Or  hangs  upon  the  walls, 
A  dead  aurelian  crust. 
Think  you  the  larva  ever  knew 
Its  gold-winged  flight  before  it  flew  ? 

When  from  the  port  of  Spain 

Columbus  sailed  away, 
And  down  the  sinking  main 

Moved  toward  the  setting  day, 
Could  any  words  have  made  him  see 
The  new  worlds  that  were  yet  to  be  ? 

The  boy  with  laugh  and  play 

Fills  out  his  little  plan, 
Still  lisping,  day  by  day, 

Of  how  he'll  be  a  man  ; 
But  can  you  to  his  childish  brain 
Make  aught  of  coming  manhood  plain  ? 

Let  heaven  be  just  above  us, 

Let  God  be  e'er  so  high, 
Yet,  howsoe'er  he  love  us, 

And  howe'er  much  we  cry, 
There  is  no  speech  that  can  make  clear 
The  thing  that  "  doth  not  yet  appear." 


220  SORROW   AND   HOPE 


'Tis  not  that  God  loves  mystery : 
The  things  beyond  us  we  can  never  know 
Until  up  to  their  lofty  height  we  grow, 

And  finite  grasps  infinity. 


THE  PESCADERO  PEBBLES 

T  \  7  HERE  slopes  the  beach  to  the  setting  sun, 

*  *       On  the  Pescadero  shore, 

Forever  and  ever  the  restless  surf 

Rolls  up  with  its  sullen  roar. 

And  grasping  the  pebbles  in  white  hands, 

And  chafing  them  together, 
And  grinding  them  against  the  cliffs 

In  stormy  and  sunny  weather, 

It  gives  them  never  any  rest : 

All  day,  all  night,  the  pain 
Of  their  long  agony  sobs  on, 

Sinks,  and  then  swells  again. 

And  tourists  come  from  every  clime 

To  search  with  eager  care 
For  those  whose  rest  has  been  the  least ; 

For  such  have  grown  most  fair. 


THE  PESCADERO  PEBBLES  221 

But  yonder,  round  a  point  of  rock, 

In  a  quiet,  sheltered  cove, 
Where  storm  ne'er  breaks  and  sea  ne'er  comes, 

The  tourists  never  rove. 

The  pebbles  lie  'neath  the  sunny  sky 

In  quiet  evermore  : 
In  dreams  of  everlasting  peace, 

They  sleep  upon  the  shore, 

But  ugly,  rough,  and  jagged  still, 

They  lie  through  idle  years  ; 
For  they  miss  the  beat  of  angry  storms 

And  the  surf  that  drips  in  tears. 

The  hard  turmoil  of  the  pitiless  sea 
Turns  the  pebble  to  beauteous  gem. 

They  who  escape  the  agony 
Miss  sorrow's  diadem. 


222  SORROW   AND   HOPE 


LIFE  IN  DEATH 

XT  EW  being  is  from  being  ceased  ; 
*  ^      No  life  is  but  by  death  ; 
Something's  expiring  everywhere 
To  give  some  other  breath. 

There's  not  a  flower  that  glads  the  spring 

But  blooms  upon  the  grave 
Of  its  dead  parent  seed,  o'er  which 

Its  forms  of  beauty  wave. 

The  oak  that,  like  an  ancient  tower, 
Stands  massive  on  the  heath, 

Looks  out  upon  a  living  world, 
But  strikes  its  roots  in  death. 

The  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills 
Clip  the  sweet  herbs  that  grow 

Rank  from  the  soil  enriched  by  herds 
Sleeping  long  years  below. 

To-day  is  but  a  structure  built 

Upon  dead  yesterday ; 
And  Progress  hews  her  temple-stones 

From  wrecks  of  old  decay. 


THE   DEAD   ACORN  223 

Then  mourn  not  death  :  'tis  but  a  stair 

Built  with  divinest  art, 
Up  which  the  deathless  footsteps  climb 

Of  loved  ones  who  depart. 


THE  DEAD  ACORN 

T   WALKED  in  the  field  one  autumn  day, 
•*•     And  came  where  an  oak-tree  stood 
And  talked  with  the  winds  of  an  elder  day, 
And  of  nature's  brotherhood. 

I  sat  me  down  by  its  ancient  bole, 

And  mused  till,  in  half-dream, 
The  real  seemed  fancy  to  my  soul, 

And  fancies  real  did  seem. 

I  noted  where  an  acorn  lay : 

The  flecked  sunbeams  fell  through, 

And  the  rain  dripped  on  it  day  by  day 
The  warm,  long  summer  through. 

The  leaves  and  dust  half-covered  o'er 
The  burst  and  blackened  shell : 

I  thought,  "  The  dead  arise  no  more  : 
They  perish  where  they  fell." 


224  SORROW   AND   HOPE 

A  gust  then  shook  the  leafy  top 

Of  the  tree  above  my  head, 
And  a  shower  of  acorns  fair  did  drop 

Where  the  brother  mast  lay  dead. 

And  I  heard  a  whisper  as  if  they  spoke, — 
Or  was  it  the  west  wind's  sigh  ? — 

"  O  acorn  child  of  the  long-lived  oak  ! 
'Tis  pity  that  you  should  die. 

"  The  beauty  of  your  fair  round  form 
Is  broken  and  blackened  now  : 

No  more  you'll  dare  the  joy  of  the  storm, 
Nor  swing  on  your  sunlit  bough. 

"  Oh,  might  one  forever  an  acorn  stay 
In  the  beauty  of  smooth,  round  shell. 

And  rock  in  the  sunshine  every  day, 
The  universe  were  well !  " 

While  thus  the  soughing  voice  wailed  by 
With  a  moan  as  of  falling  tears, 

The  dead  climbed  up  in  the  sunlit  sky 
To  a  life  of  a  hundred  years. 


GOING   TO   SLEEP  225 


GOING  TO  SLEEP 

A  FTER  the  clay's  long  playing, 
**•     Tired  as  tired  can  be, 
My  baby  girl  comes  saying, 
"  Papa,  will  you  rock  me  ?" 

The  busy  works  of  daytime 
Allure  her  now  no  more  ; 

The  books  and  toys  of  playtime 
Are  scattered  round  the  floor. 

Off  now  with  shoe  and  stocking, 
Off  with  the  crumpled  dress : 

She's  ready  now  for  rocking, 
For  crooning  and  caress. 

And  slowly  sinking,  sinking, 
The  night  comes  down  the  skies 

While  drooping,  opening,  winking, 
Sleep  settles  on  her  eyes. 

She  does  not  fear  the  sleeping  : 
Out  o'er  the  sea  of  dark, 

Close  held  in  papa's  keeping. 
She  drifts  in  her  frail  bark. 


226  SORROW    AND    HOPE 

No  matter  for  the  morrow, 
Enough  that  papa  knows  ; 

With  smile  undimmed  by  sorrow, 
Out  in  the  dark  she  goes. 

So  should  it  be  with  dying  : 
Drop  earthly  cares  and  fears  ; 

In  Father's  arms  you're  lying ; 
Look  up  with  smiles,  not  tears. 

You  know  not  of  the  waking  ? 

Be  not  with  fear  beguiled  ; 
For,  when  the  morning's  breaking, 

He'll  not  forget  his  child. 


LIFE   I  ROM    DEATH  227 


LIFE  FROM  DEATH 

T  T  AD  one  ne'er  seen  the  miracle 
*•  *•      Of  May-time  from  December  born, 
Who  would  have  dared  the  tale  to  tell 
That  'neath  ice-ridges  slept  the  corn  ? 

White  death  lies  deep  upon  the  hills, 
And  meanings  through  the  tree-tops  go ; 

The  exulting  wind,  with  breath  that  chills, 
Shouts  triumph  to  the  unresting  snow. 

My  study  window  shows  me  where 

On  hard-fought  fields  the  summer  died  : 

Its  banners  now  are  stripped  and  bare 
Of  even  autumn's  fading  pride. 

Yet,  on  the  gust  that  surges  by, 
I  read  a  pictured  promise  :  soon 

The  storm  of  earth  and  frown  of  sky 
Will  melt  into  luxuriant  June. 


228  SORROW   AND   HOPE 


AT  TWILIGHT  TIME 


A' 


T  twilight  time, 

The  musing  hour, 
When  the  past  relives, 

And  we  feel  the  power 
Of  the  subtle  spell  that  awhile  calls  back 
The  treasures  we've  lost  along  life's  track, — 

We  sit  and  dream, 

Till  the  present  falls 
In  the  shadow  that  rises 

And  sinks  on  the  walls  ; 
And  the  old  time  only  is  living  and  true, 
And  dreams  are  the  things  that  now  we  do. 

Then  on  the  stairs 

Is  the  patter  and  fall 
Of  the  little  feet 

That  ran  through  the  hall ; 
We  hear  the  old  shout  of  frolic  and  glee, 
And  again  the  lost  darling  is  on  our  knee. 


AT  TWILIGHT   TIME  22Q 

The  little  shoes, 

The  doll,  the  cart, 
The  half-worn  frock, — 
Oh,  who  would  part 

With  these  treasured  trifles  that  hold  the  key 
To  the  sacred  chamber  of  memory  ! 

The  tears  may  fall, 

The  heart  may  swell ; 
The  loss  is  bitter ; 
Yet  who  can  tell, 

From  a  mother's  love,  what  treasure  vast 
Could  buy  these  waifs  of  a  shipwrecked  past? 

Our  human  love 
Is  but  a  ray : 
In  God's  great  heart 
Is  full-orbed  clay. 

If  the  toys  of  our  children  we  cherish  and  bless, 
Is  God's  love  for  his  little  ones  smaller  or  less  ? 


230  SORROW   AND    HOPE 


THE  FINISHED  LIFE 

HP  HERE'S  a  beauty  in  the  spring-time 
•••       With  its  fresh  grass  and  its  flowers 
With  the  song-birds  in  the  branches 
And  the  children's  happy  hours. 

But  there's  no  less  of  beauty 

When  the  leaves  turn  gold  and  brown 
In  the  short'ning  days  of  autumn, 

When  far  south  the  birds  have  flowrn. 

If  the  rough  hand  of  the  tempest 
Tear  away  the  fresh  young  leaves, 

Over  youthful  vigor  wasted, 

Who  can  wonder  if  one  grieves  ? 

But  when  off  the  autumn  branches 
Drop  the  brown  leaves  one  by  one, 

Seems  it  then  as  fair  and  fitting 
As  the  setting  of  the  sun. 

Here  the  old  man  by  the  fireside 

Backward  looks  through  tender  tears : 

And  he  says,  "  With  wife  and  children 
Trod  I  long  and  happy  years." 


THE   FINISHED   LIFE  231 

As  he  sitteth  by  the  window 

Looking  o'er  the  city  ways, 
Whispers  he,  "  Success  and  honor 

Have  been  mine  in  gone  by  days. 

"  I  have  seen  the  world's  fair  beauty  ; 

I  have  tasted  all  its  sweet ; 
Now,  when  past  my  two  and  three  score, 

Life  is  finished  and  complete. 

"  And  the  face  of  her  who  loved  me 

Beckons  to  me  far  away  ; 
I  have  wrought  the  work  God  gave  me, 

Wherefore  should  I  longer  stay?  " 

Who  then,  friends,  would  wish  to  keep  him  ? 

Sound  no  sad,  funereal  knell : 
Of  his  life  say,  It  was  blessed ! 

Of  his  death  say,  It  is  well  ! 


232  SORROW   AND    HOPE 


BETTER  OFF 

TT  E'S  better  off."     With  words  like  these 
•*-  *•    Kind  friends  their  comfort  try  to  speak. 
None  doubts  it  of  a  man  like  him ; 

Yet  far  off  sound  the  words,  and  weak. 

The  heart  that  loves  is  not  content, 
However  well  the  loved  one  be, 

To  have  him  happy  far  away, 

But  cries,  "I  want  him  still  with  me!" 

That  other  country  may  be  fair, 

Brighter  than  aught  the  earth  has  shown, 
But  better  any  place  with  him 

Than  to  be  left  here  all  alone. 

Thus  pleads  the  heart  that  God  has  made, — 
He  cannot  blame  what  he  has  given, — 

For  heaven  without  love  could  not  be, 
And,  having  love,  the  earth  is  heaven. 

The  folded  hands,  the  closing  eyes, 
The  yielding  up  of  failing  breath, — 

These  not  the  worst :  to  tear  apart 
Two  hearts  that  truly  love  is  death. 


BETTER    OFF  233 

Since  love  is  all  the  joy  of  life, 

In  earth  below  or  heaven  above, 
Somewhere,  we  cannot  help  but  trust, 

God  keeps  for  us  the  ones  we  love. 

Like  ships  the  storms  drive  far  apart 
Wide  o'er  the  sea  'neath  cloud  and  sun, 

We'll  still  sail  for  the  self-same  port, 

And  meet  there  when  the  voyage  is  done. 

And  as  we  tell  the  story  o'er, 

How  we  were  driven  by  the  blast, 

More  sweet  will  be  those  sunny  hours 
By  contrast  with  the  sorrows  past. 


234  SORROW   AND   HOPE 


THE  DEAD  ONE'S  MESSAGE 


now  the  silence  of  these  lips 
Wake  into  speech  once  more  to-day 
With  their  sweet  tones  of  old-time  love, 

What  last  words,  think  you,  would  they  say  ? 

"  Weep  for  me  tenderly  :  for  I, 
Were  you  here  lying  in  my  place, 

Would  press  my  warm  lips  on  your  brow, 
And  rain  the  hot  tears  on  your  face. 

"  For  is  it  not  death's  sting  to  know 

That,  howe'er  happy,  still  apart 
Our  pathways  lead  us,  while  the  old, 

Strong  love  still  yearns  within  the  heart  ? 

"  And  when  this  body's  laid  away, 
I'd  have  you  my  low  earth-bed  make 

All  fresh  with  grass,  and  sweet  with  flowers, 
And  sacred  for  the  old  time's  sake. 

"  But  then,  sweet  friends,  look  up  and  on  ! 

Let  sunshine  all  the  clouds  break  through. 
And  do  not  for  my  sake  forget 

What  for  the  living  you  should  do  ! 


THE   DEAD   ONE*S   MESSAGE  235 

"  Let  not  the  shadow  of  my  loss 
Darken  the  path  the  living  tread  ; 

But  let  the  memories  of  my  past 

Still  cheer  and  help,  though  I  am  dead. 

"  These  ears  can  hear  your  words  no  more, 

However  fondly  you  may  speak  ; 
For  my  sake  then,  with  words  of  love, 

The  living  cheer,  and  help  the  weak. 

"  My  heart,  now  still,  no  longer  aches  : 
But  hapless  thousands  watch  and  wake 

Through  weary  nights  and  hopeless  days  ; 
Help  them  before  their  sad  hearts  break  ! 

"Your  willing  hands  for  me  have  wrought ; 

But  now  I  need  your  help  no  more. 
The  service  you  would  render  me 

Give  those  who  suffer  at  your  door. 

"  Cherish  my  memory  in  your  heart ! 

But,  lest  it  grow  a  selfish  thing, 
Make  channels  for  a  thousand  streams, 

Of  which  my  love  shall  be  the  spring. 

"  So  from  the  grave  I  still  may  speak  ; 

Still  help  the  sorrowing  world  to  bless ; 
Still  live,  though  dead,  and  swell  the  tide 

Of  human  love  and  happiness." 


236  SORROW   AND   HOPE 


WHICH  IS  BETTER 

out  of  the  mystery  cometh  to  earth 
A  new  child  of  God  through  the  gateway  of  birth. 

Out  into  the  mystery  that  lies  beyond  breath 

Goes  a  new  child  of  God  through  the  gateway  of  death. 

We  smile  at  the  birth,  at  the  death  toll  the  bell  ; 
Yet  which  is  the  better,  who  is  there  can  tell  ? 

How  oft  is  the  birth  to  a  life  full  of  tears, — 

To  a  path  that  is  rough  and  o'erclouded  by  fears ! 

How  often,  heart-hungry  for  love  unreturned, 

We  see  the  bliss  vanish  for  which  we  have  yearned  ! 

How  often  the  structures  we  reared  with  delight, 
Our  houses  of  joy,  crumble  down  in  a  night. 

A  live  sorrow  often  is  harder,  we  say, 

Than  the  parting  from  those  who  are  taken  away  ; 

And  we  sigh  for  the  peace  of  an  undisturbed  sleep 
Where  hearts  are  not  broken,  and  eyes  do  not  weep. 

Our  birth  is  a  coming — so  wise  men  have  said  — 
From  some  other  land,  where  they  count  us  as  dead. 


WHICH    IS   BETTER  237 

For  if  it  be  true  we  existed  before, 

To  the  old  home  we  died,  as  we  came  to  this  shore. 

Did  they  mourn  our  departure  there,  as  we  to-day 
Lament  for  our  dear  ones  when  they  go  away  ? 

Who  knows  then  that  what  we  call  death  may  not  be 
But  another  new  birth,  through  whose  gateway  we 

Take  one  more  step  upward,  as  ever  the  bars 
Of  life's  mystic  ladder  o'ertop  the  high  stars  ? 

Birth  and  death  may  be  one  then  :  the  different  view. 
Or  coming  or  going,  makes  us  think  them  two. 

And,  since  life  reaches  upward  and  on  through  all 

time, 
Each  death  may  be  birth  into  some  fairer  clime. 

Since  birth  and  death  both  then  are  mysteries  deep, 
And  whether  they're  waking  or  going  to  sleep 

We  know  not ;  and  whether  'tis  better  to  stay, 
Or  whether  'tis  best  to  be  going  away, 

Let  us  trust  and  be  patient :  for  sure  He  must  know, 
From  whose  Life  we  come,  to  whose  Life  we  go. 

Birth,  death, —  which  is  better  no  mortal  can  tell : 
Believe  that  they  both  then  in  His  hands  are  well. 


238  SORROW   AND  HOPE 


A  LESSON  OF  TRUST 

A    BUD  of  life  just  opening 
**•     Its  petals  fresh  and  fair, 
But  now  frost-nipped  and  withered 
In  spite  of  all  my  care  ! 

Both  day  and  night  I  watched  it ; 

'Twas  never  out  of  sight : 
Glad  tears  I  gave  for  dew-drops, 

And  love  for  sunshine  bright. 

And  yet  it  needs  must  wither ! 

O  Father,  tell  me  why, 
Of  all  in  earth's  wide  garden, 

My  tiny  flower  must  die  ! 

A  thousand  happy  mothers 
Their  little  ones  still  hold, 

While  I  for  mine  must  hunger 
With  yearnings  all  untold. 

In  other  homes,  child  voices 
Laugh  out  their  happy  glee ; 

But  all  their  winsome  prattle 
Seems  mockery  now  to  me ! 


A   LESSON   OF   TRUST  239 

For  my  child's  voice  is  silent ; 

And  no  one  tells  me  why, 
Of  all  glad  mothers'  children, 

My  precious  child  must  die  ! 

Then  came  from  out  the  silence  — 

As  though  some  heart  above 
Was  melted  into  pity  — 

These  tender  words  of  love : 

"  O  mother,  in  your  sorrow, 

O  father,  in  your  grief, 
Can  you  not  trust  a  little, 

And,  trusting,  find  relief? 

"  I  lead  you  in  the  darkness 

A  way  you  may  not  tell ; 
And,  if  I  would,  I  cannot 

The  mystery  dispel. 

"  Can  you,  with  all  your  trying, 
To  childish  thought  make  plain 

The  wisdom  of  your  training, 
The  school-day  toil  and  pain  ? 

"  However  plain  the  language, 

It  falls  on  childish  ears  : 
They  cannot  spell  its  meaning 

With  eyes  all  dim  with  tears. 


240  SORROW   AND   HOPE 

"  The  boy  cannot  know  manhood  ; 

The  coming  years  must  teach 
How  childhood's  trust  and  trouble 

Toward  grander  issues  reach. 

"  Till  you  can  read  the  future, 
How  can  you  know  to-day  ? 

'Tis  ever  by  the  ending 

That  you  must  judge  the  way. 

"  To  your  own  little  children, 
Who,  fearful,  clasp  your  hand, 

You  say,  '  Fear  not,  but  trust  me  : 
Someday,  you'll  understand.' 

"  Learn  thus  your  own  good  lesson  : 

Be  patient ;  and  one  day, 
From  some  height  looking  backward, 

You'll  see  your  earthly  way  ; 

"  And  then  your  grown-up  childhood 
You'll  know  as  school-day  hours  ; 

And  all  your  tears  as  dew-drops 
That  helped  life's  opening  flowers. 

"  Trust,  then,  while  through  the  darkness 

I  lead  you  by  the  hand. 
The  end  that's  now  beyond  you 

Some  day,  you'll  understand." 


THE  DEAL)   HOME  241 


THE   DEAD   HOME 

HPHE  heart  of  home  is  still : 

*•       The  house  stands  on  the  street, 
Nor  tells  the  passers-by 
Its  heart  has  ceased  to  beat. 

And  yet  within  how  changed  ! 

The  rooms  look  as  of  old  : 
Across  the  carpets  fair 

The  sunlight  pours  its  gold. 

The  tables  and  the  books, 
The  stairways  and  the  hall, 

Seem  as  before  :  still  hang 
The  pictures  on  the  wall. 

The  little  ones,  too  young 
To  know  what  it  may  mean, 

Their  wondering  questions  ask, 
With  tears  and  smiles  between. 

The  body  of  the  home 

Stands  still  upon  the  street ; 

But  yet  how  changed  within, — 
It*  heart  has  ceased  to  beat ! 


242  SORROW    AND   HOPE 

The  mother  was  the  heart, — 
The  mother  and  the  wife  : 

Her  smile  was  all  its  light, 
Her  movement  all  its  life. 

Now  that  she  smiles  no  more, 
And  does  not  lift  her  head, 

The  house  may  still  remain, 
But,  oh,  the  home  is  dead ! 

The  lonely  husband  broods 
Upon  the  years  gone  by, — 

The  kindness  on  her  lips, 
The  love-light  in  her  eye. 

And  then  he  looks  before, 

And  shrinks  to  meet  the  days, 

When,  sitting  all  alone, 
He'll  miss  her  quiet  ways. 

His  heart  is  sore  to  think 
That  time  may  e'en  erase 

From  her  own  children's  hearts 
The  memory  of  her  face. 

For  now  their  wondering  looks 
Beseech  the  reason  why 

Their  mother  lies  so  still, 

And  why  those  round  her  cry. 


THE   DEAD   HOME  243 

O  house  upon  the  street, 

What  comfort  can  be  said 
To  him  who  weeps  within  ? 

The  heart  of  home  is  dead  ! 

But  this  :  You  must  be  brave 

The  little  ones  to  bless 
With  all  your  manhood's  strength, 

And  all  her  tenderness. 

'Tis  double  duty  now  : 

If  she  could  speak,  she'd  say, 
"  Let  not  the  ones  we  loved  — 

Now  I  have  gone  away  — 

"  Be  poor  in  love  or  care  : 

Be  mother  in  my  place ; 
And  let  them  not  forget 

Their  absent  mother's  face. 

"  Some  day, —  who  knows !  — perchance, 
Where  friends  can  ne'er  forget, 

They'll  clasp  me  in  their  arms, 
And  call  me  mother  yet." 


244  SORROW   AND   HOPE 


THE  HEART'S  SPRING-TIME 

"  I  ^HE  earth  lay  shrouded  white  in  snow  : 
*•       With  low,  sad  voice,  the  winds  wailed  by ; 
While,  as  in  hopeless  prayer,  the  trees 
Their  gaunt  arms  lifted  to  the  sky. 

Winter  was  king ;  and  icy  Death, 

His  favorite,  stretched  his  sceptre  forth, 

And  held  all  fair  things,  leaf  and  flower, 
Prisoned  in  dungeons  of  the  north. 

All  nature  was  in  chains  :  the  brooks 
Crept  ice-bound  on  their  sluggish  way ; 

The  sun  shone  feebly,  and  the  night 
Soon  blotted  out  the  cheerless  day. 

Then  from  the  south  the  glad  spring  came, 
And  breathed  through  all  the  chilly  air, 

And  wheresoe'er  her  warm  feet  trod 
Sprang  life  and  beauty  everywhere. 

The  earth  flung  off  her  shroud :  the  winds 
Their  wailing  ceased,  and  stooped  to  tell 

The  grasses  and  the  flowers  'twas  time 
For  roots  to  start  and  buds  to  swell. 


THE  HEART'S  SPRING-TIME  245 

The  trees'  long  prayer  was  answered  now  : 
The  heavens  once  again  were  kind  ; 

And,  thrilled  through  every  bough,  they  flung 
Their  leafy  banners  to  the  wind. 

The  fields  and  meadows  all  put  on 

Their  spangled  dress  of  grass  and  flowers  ; 

Brooks  babbled,  and  ecstatic  birds 

Made  shake  with  joy  their  leafy  towers. 

Such  is  young  Nature's  Easter  Day  ! 

But  tell  me,  then,  Has  man  no  part 
In  life's  long  triumph  over  death  ? 

Is  there  no  Easter  of  the  heart  ? 

Our  loved  ones,  shrouded  white,  have  lain 
Beneath  the  snow  these  many  years  : 

The  sad-voiced  winds  above  them  go, 
And  on  their  graves  drip  rainy  tears. 

Their  shadowy  memories  visit  us, — 

For  dreams  at  least  can  leave  that  shore, — 

Mother's  gray  hairs  and  gentle  eyes, 
As  light  she  steps  across  the  floor  ; 

Or  comes  the  brother  of  our  youth, 
Making  the  far-off  years  draw  nigh  ; 

The  wife,  long  lost,  our  fadeless  dream, 
The  same  old  love-look  in  her  eye  ; 


246  SORROW   AND   HOPE 

The  laughing  child,  whose  sunny  hair, 
Was  so  entangled  in  our  heart 

It  bleeds  afresh  when  we  recall 
The  hour  that  tore  our  lives  apart. 

'Tis  winter  in  our  lives  !     Snows  fall, 
Chill,  dreary  skies  are  overhead  ; 

The  fresh  leaves  of  our  youth  are  gone, 
The  flowers  of  our  hope  are  dead. 


Is  there  no  Easter  of  the  heart  ? 

Will  our  lives  bud  again  no  more  ? 
Will  they  no  more  return, —  the  birds 

Whose  music  made  us  glad  before  ? 

Nay,  listen  !  in  my  heart  I  hear 

The  whisper  of  another  spring  : 
The  winds  blow  warm  from  sunny  lands, 

Leaves  burst  and  buds  are  blossoming. 

I  catch  the  fragrance  of  a  clime 

Where  summer  blooms  the  whole  round  year, 
Where  every  sound  melts  into  song 

And  comes  as  music  to  my  ear. 

The  lost  ones  hidden  by  the  snow, 
With  faces  white  and  still  and  cold, 

Beneath  those  soft  skies  wake  again 
To  live  and  love  us  as  of  old. 


THE  HEART'S  SPRING-TIME  247 

Mother  and  brother,  wife  and  child, — 
They  keep  the  same  remembered  faces ; 

Only  tear-stains  and  lines  of  care 

With  deathless  youth  can  find  no  places. 

And,  best  of  all,  it  looks  like  home, 
No  strange  land  trod  by  alien  feet, — 

Familiar  as  our  childhood  haunts, 
Clothed  all  in  mellow  sunlight  sweet. 

The  heart's  long  prayer  is  answered  thus  : 
The  dead  through  no  far  countries  roam, 

As  babes  born  into  waiting  arms, 
They  die  into  some  higher  home. 

And,  'neath  the  sunshine  of  this  hope, 
My  life,  where  joy  had  ceased  to  sing, 

Where  dead  flowers  mocked  the  withered  leaves, 
Now  buds  and  blossoms  like  the  spring. 


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